


Tonight the Stars Revolt!

by monstersinthecosmos



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Choking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, JERKOFFS TO LOVERS if you will, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Rimming, Self-Harm, alien violence, anyway, i swear we're just friends, it truly has a mind of its own, it's alarming, jerking off with your best friend, keith dictates this to me i have no control sarry, keith is just so horny, self destructive behavior, tags to be added as I go!, thirst is ruining his life, this was supposed to be a fun pwp and i'm so sorry for the angst, what that means is, whoops how awkward
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2020-06-30 02:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 77,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19843294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstersinthecosmos/pseuds/monstersinthecosmos
Summary: Studies on the effects of adrenaline on arousal indicate that subjects report higher levels of attraction to those with whom they've experienced situations of raised levels of adrenaline. In this essay I will





	1. An Eye is Upon You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is sort of a lovesong to how [Tonight the Stars Revolt!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzdIV7nsSWU&list=PLQ4heuUv-W-cOYSg0dLKlQJ_BYSE_K7Dw) by Powerman 5000 gives me intense horny Sheith feels and makes me daydream about dicking around in space beatin up the Galra.
> 
> QUICK NOTE ABOUT TAGS: I am adding them as they become relevant in each chapter, so if you have any hard lines you're concerned about please leave me a comment or feel free to DM me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kacyinthecosmos) or something. As a writer I generally "choose not to use archive warnings" because my work strays towards the dark end most of the time and there's no way for me to catch everything that might be a sensitive topic. There are also certain elements that might be spoiled/revealed by tagging in advance. So just let me know. :)

_spinning complacently in the darkness_  
_covered and blinded by a blanket of little lives_  
_false security has lulled the madness of this world into a slumber_  
_wake up, an eye is upon you_  
_staring straight down and keenly through_  
_seeing all that you are_  
_and everything that you will never be_

* * *

“You should get some sleep,” Shiro slurs.

He isn’t lying. Keith actually agrees. They all should get some sleep. But he laughs, because the idea of Shiro still being such a mom while he’s completely hammered is vaguely hilarious.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles. There’s a grunt of effort as he tugs off Shiro’s other boot, and he staggers back a few feet as it comes free. Shiro laughs softly from where he’s sprawled out across his mattress.

“Drink water before bed,” he adds, but contrary to the Mom Advice he’s doling out, he reaches to hand Keith his flask.

Keith’s ribs ache as he drops Shiro’s boot to the floor and comes forward to accept.He sits down at the edge of the bed and stares at the flask for a moment. The idea of drinking more of this shit makes his stomach clench but he can still hear the sound of the explosions ringing in his head and doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep at all if he doesn’t fucking dose himself.

And god, it tastes like rubbing alcohol. He coughs as he takes a shot from the flask and covers his mouth with the back of his hand to keep it down. Shiro laughs gently from beside him. There’s an aftertaste like fermented fruit that clings to the back of his throat, like rotting plums. When the wave of nausea passes he clicks the top of the flask back into place and discards it into the sheets somewhere. He shakes out his hair and goes to stand.

He remembers moments like this. He’s young, he knows he’s young. It’s not that he has this wealth of experience to draw on. But he remembers sneaking drinks, being drunk. He remembers the time he’d been sipping on a soda bottle that wasn’t really soda, playing video games in front of everyone in the common room. The way he’d felt warm and nice and no one had suspected a thing until he tried to stand and his limbs turned to jelly. He’d crashed right into his fucking case manager. Whoops.

Something like that happens now, and he laughs as he sways to the side, as the room does a playful little spin in his vision. He reaches to grab onto the wall to keep from keeling over and Shiro props himself up on his elbows.

“Are you okay?” he asks. He has to push his hair out of his eyes to see Shiro’s face. Glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted.

The honest answer is: _No, maybe, kinda?_ Keith thinks his ribs might be broken and if he moves too fast he’s gonna puke all over Shiro’s floor. Like, partly from the weird alien booze. For sure. The booze. But the pain is making him feel hot all over, too.

He rubs his fingers gingerly down his side and shrugs. “I’ll sleep it off. It’s fine.”

Shiro narrows his eyes. For a moment he looks dangerously close to sober and Keith’s skin goes cold with guilt.

“Do you want to go use the healing pod?” Shiro’s moving like he’s going to stand, like Keith would need an escort.

“No, no,” he forces a smile and turns, gives Shiro a light shove on his shoulder to get him to lie back down. “It’s fine. Those things give me fucked up dreams, anyway.”

Shiro laughs.

Keith isn’t sure the last time he’s heard Shiro laugh like that. It’s warm and genuine, like he really means it. Relaxed, the way he used to be. The way Keith remembers him.

His scalp tingles and his face feels numb and maybe the booze is kicking in. Fingers flex where he’s holding the wall, and he surveys the room to check how the spins are doing.

Softer now. Maybe it’s nice. The need to puke has passed and the buzz is pleasant. A few slow breaths to smooth everything over and he gives his shoulders a roll.

“What about you?” he asks, and lets go of the wall, steps away from the bed to turn and watch Shiro’s face. He’s flat on his back, legs dangling over the side. Eyes closed. “You okay?”

“Hmm,” he shrugs without opening his eyes. “Doesn’t matter.”

And like, maybe it’s the weird alien booze. The way Shiro’s words dance up his spine, the way his throat goes tight. For sure, the booze, because Keith knows how to show affection with actions, he knows how to snatch Shiro back from the jaws of death, but he doesn’t know how to parse things like _emotions_ , like _words_. He swallows hard and sits back down.

Shiro opens one of his eyes and his human hand scratches idly at the strip of skin that’s peeking out from beneath his t-shirt, right over his hip.

“I’m just gonna…” Keith rubs his mouth, pokes his fingertips into his numb bottom lip, “…hang out in here for a minute. If that’s cool.”

And it’s the booze, or the pain, or the battle. It’s sheer exhaustion and his mental gymnastics trying to figure out exactly how long they’ve been in space now and how long since he last got a decent night of sleep. It has his limbs going loose, his muscles relaxing, and he’s finally drunk enough that he doesn’t really feel it when he flops back into Shiro’s bed, maybe harder than he should’ve with his ribs all fucked up like this. 

“Yeah, it’s cool.”

“I don’t feel like I’d make it back to my room right now,” he says to the ceiling. He presses a palm flat against his breast bone, like he can feel the swelling heartburn beneath it. The fuck did Coran give them, anyway?

He hears Shiro moving in the bed, feels warm breath ghost against his shoulder like he’s rolled onto his side.

“Oh my god,” Shiro says, his voice back to the drunken lightness. “Oh god.”

Keith raises an eyebrow but doesn’t move his head, just studies the way the room lights shine against the ceiling. “What?”

“I didn’t get you drunk, did I?”

“Shiro, please.”

Shiro’s hand comes down on Keith’s arm. “Oh my god, are you old enough to drink yet?”

Laughter bubbles out, loud and abrupt for a second. He rubs his eyes and rolls over on his side and maybe he’s drunk enough that being so close, face-to-face, isn’t making him too squeamish.

“I’m old enough to pilot a fucking WMD but I can’t drink?”

“I’m a terrible space dad.”

“Ugh,” the booze has him feeling easy, maybe even sort of bold. He grins and turns his face to half hide against the bed. “I’m not a kid anymore, dude.”

Shiro laughs to himself with a quick exhale through his nose. “Yeah. I noticed.”

And it’s familiar suddenly.

He feels more grown up than he used to, that much is true. He doesn’t feel like a kid anymore. But, in all fairness, Shiro had never treated him like a kid back then. He’d always felt accepted and important. Shiro was the only adult in his life that wasn’t an asshole. So maybe that part hasn’t changed.

It skitters over his skin for a moment and his brain warps around the situation, tries to make sense of time and space and where the fuck they are. It makes his body feel weightless and he has to focus on the sight of Shiro there, right in front of him, to settle back in. And he’s not sure where they are, or how long it’s been, but somehow it feels comfortable all the same.

The distance should feel surreal and he prods at it in his mind, tries to make it feel bigger. He should feel the weight of it, he tells himself. He should care that he’s this far from the only home he’s ever known. But…

He doesn’t.

“How long do you think we’ve been out here?” he asks. His face is still half-buried against the blankets and his words are a little muffled but Shiro seems to hear him just fine.

“I don’t know,” Shiro’s eyes go hazy as he mulls it over. “I’m… not good at stuff like that anymore.”

There have been these moments, since all of this began. Back on Earth had been different; his feelings about Shiro had become abstract, hypothetical. He’d been in a state somewhere between grief and determination, not sure if he could convince himself that Shiro was gone, no matter how much logic dictated. It had been different not knowing.

It should be a relief that Shiro is back. Most of the time it is, he knows that. He appreciates it. The truth is that he isn’t sure how much longer he would’ve lasted out there, by himself, living the way he’d been. Having Shiro back is the only thing that fucking matters, really. But there are these moments, now that he knows. And no amount of alien booze can dull the way it flares in his chest. It’s rage, or empathy, or some weird moral compass he pretends he doesn’t possess, spinning out of control over the injustice.

Grieving Shiro wasn’t easy, but this _knowing_ isn’t easy, either. Knowing what they did to him.

His mind is still shaping around all of it, expanding and collapsing and trying to land on the correct response, when Shiro smiles again. It isn’t fake, but it’s also not from joy. Maybe from irony. Shiro’s sense of humor has always been this fucking dry, after all. Keith isn’t surprised that he can be this self-deprecating.

“I wanna say it’s been four months,” he says with a shrug. “It’s hard to tell with all the wormholing, and I’m not sure how fast the castle can go, but maybe if you look at the recessional velocity and the distance we’ve traveled that we’ve been able to actually track on the navigation system, and considering that we keep using Altean measurements… maybe. I don’t know. Maybe four months.”

“It feels like it’s been way longer than that.”

Shiro smiles again. “It’s not so bad. Could be worse.”

He wants to be mad again, feels it creeping up his spine, but the feeling of familiarity settles in again, clicks into place. It feels ironic that the booze isn’t enough to calm him down, but Shiro is. He’s always been enough.

“Can I ask you something weird?”

“Sure,” Shiro stretches, relaxed like a cat, and his new arm makes a quiet whir as he wiggles his fingers.

He watches Shiro’s face, thinks back to how it used to be. How Shiro was the only adult in his life who wasn’t completely fucking useless, how he’d felt so safe to ask him anything, how he never felt stupid. They’re out in space somewhere, and they’re older and maimed and just hours ago had their asses handed to them, but he doesn’t feel far from home.

“Do you miss Earth?”

Shiro chuckles. “That isn’t a weird question.”

His cheeks feel warm, maybe he’s blushing, but he wants to blame the booze again. Because asking Shiro dumb questions still doesn’t make him feel stupid, even when Shiro calls him on it.

“I mean,” he chews at his thumbnail as he tries to pick out the right words. “I know it’s not _weird_ but. I think I don’t miss Earth. Maybe that’s weird.”

He’ll also blame the booze for admitting that out loud. His insides flutter in the silence between them; instinct tells him he’s safe, that he shouldn’t feel stupid from asking Shiro stupid questions, because he’s never had to in the past, but he wonders if there’s a limit.

He nervously babbles on before Shiro can answer him. “Cause, you know. I guess I don’t feel like I had anything going for me on Earth or something. So what difference does it make?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Shiro rolls onto his back again and stares up at the ceiling. “I kinda miss… rain.”

Keith rolls back, too. He closes his eyes. “I guess I miss food.”

“I miss popcorn.”

“I miss quesadillas.”

“Thai tea.”

“Pizza.”

Shiro laughs and cracks the knuckles of his human hand. “Remember that place near the Garrison that everyone used to go? That pizza place with the arcade games?”

“Oh, god,” Keith mumbles. “That place.”

“What? I liked it. We used to go there all the time with Adam.”

“I kinda…” he should be embarrassed but instead he feels the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting against a grin, “…got banned from that place. Y’know, like. After you left.”

“Keith, no.”

“Sorry, space dad.”

Shiro swats him on the arm. “Did you get in a bar fight or something? At a fucking pizza place?”

The spike of laughter that bursts out of his chest startles him, louder than he meant to be. His legs are still hanging over the side of the bed and he taps his foot, antsy suddenly. He thinks he’s never been this candid before.

“The owner kinda… walked in on me giving head in the bathroom.”

“ _Keith_ , no!” Keith opens his eyes and turns to watch Shiro’s reaction. Shiro covers his face with his hands as he laughs. “That’s so fucking gross.”

And there’s this moment, this final moment. Keith doesn’t know it at the time, but maybe it’s the last moment that things are normal between them. Keith is elbowing him in the ribs and they’re both laughing, still a little drunk, soft and silly like how it used to feel. He can’t force himself to feel out of place, can’t make outer space feel surreal, because it feels right where he belongs.

The laughter tapers off. They breathe quietly. Keith’s heart skips a beat and he’ll blame the booze one last time because he doesn’t know why the fuck he’s still talking when he turns onto his side and studies Shiro’s profile.

“I miss that, too, I guess.”

Shiro twists to meet his eyes. “What? Being a complete delinquent?”

“Don’t be a dick.” Keith swallows hard as he stares. “Can I ask you something else weird?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you… get horny out here?”

He sort of expects Shiro to laugh. It’s not that he thinks he’s hitting a limit, not that Shiro will mock him. The bond between them reverberates deeper than it has in a long time and he feels the overlap between his current and former self. They could be adults, out way the fuck in space, and maybe they’re drunk and maybe they almost died today. But it feels like how it did before, first letting Shiro in, feeling safe with someone for the first time since his dad. He could say anything to Shiro back then and knows that this hasn’t changed. It’s not that Shiro will laugh at him for asking; he just thinks maybe Shiro will laugh because he’s nervous, because it’s silly, because they’re like brothers and the question was earnest and innocent and wasn’t a challenge.

Instead, his eyes go dark and he licks his lips.

“Yeah,” he answers, voice a little lower than before. It makes something unwind inside.

Keith’s face goes warm. This time, he knows better than to blame the booze.

“Can I tell you something?”

Shiro nods.

“I have to jerk off every time we almost die.”

The reaction ripples across Shiro’s face; Keith almost misses the fondness in the way he smiles, like it’s gone before he can even read it. But he tucks it away, like he’s trying to stay neutral. The green lights around the bed gleam in Shiro’s eyes.

“Me too.”

Keith’s throat goes dry. He stares, and stares, and tries not to blink, tries to focus. Doesn’t want to be gross, because Shiro is like a brother, is the one person who’s always been around, the only one who gives a fuck about him, and… he shouldn’t feel the words crawling between his thighs. Shouldn’t be imagining what it looks like when Shiro jerks off. How he likes it, how his face might move, how big his cock might be. Don’t be fucking gross.

But it’s too late for that. It was too late two minutes ago, but he didn’t know it yet. He feels his cock twitch in his pants and tries to focus even harder, to keep his eyes on Shiro’s, not to take any glances below the belt.

It should be a cue to leave. It should be time to follow through on this stupid declaration and he should be mortified to turn his back and walk away, knowing what they’re both thinking.

And yet… he stays.

Shiro shifts and Keith wonders if he’s imagining the way his legs fidget, the way his thighs rub together. He wonders if Shiro’s getting hard, and if he’d be able to tell, if there’s enough give to the pants he’s wearing. But he focuses, watches Shiro’s face, doesn’t check.

“Did you…” he clears his throat and feels completely useless, “…want me to leave? Y’know like, if you. Need to take care of that.”

He’s known Shiro for a few years now, and thinks he knows Shiro well. He’s learned to read Shiro the best he can, thinks he knows all the expressions. They’ve been through a lot together, after all. But the way Shiro smiles at him is… new.

“You can stay,” he says.

It’s a new smile, friendly and a little dark, and he isn’t sure it should shoot straight to his dick the way it does. He doesn’t know if he’s reading the right context from it, if it’s making Shiro’s voice sound more sensuous than it should. He’s never thought about Shiro like this before and there’s a moment of terror where he wonders if they’re going to break something between them.

Still, that peaceful energy coming off of him draws Keith out in a way he’s never been able to resist. He chews a layer of skin from the corner of his lip and tongues at the smooth space left behind, turns the words over a few times in his head before he says them out loud.

“It makes me feel really fucked up that I do that.”

Shiro shrugs with one shoulder. “It’s just the excess adrenaline in your body. Nothing to be ashamed about. You’re not fucked up.”

“I think it’s more than that, though.”

“How?”

Keith’s heart starts pumping a little faster, gets louder in his ears and he isn’t sure why. “It’s the…” his voice cracks and he drops to a whisper, “…violence. I like the violence.”

Shiro’s brows come together in thought, but he doesn’t speak.

“It feels good when we take them out,” he continues. “And sometimes just… the way you…”

He can see it in his mind and his face flushes with the thought he didn’t complete. His ears ring to earlier that night, Shiro screaming commands through the comms and the sound of his weapons going off, the consequent explosions. It’s strange how the memory of Shiro’s voice—smooth and confident and stern—makes the hair raise on Keith’s neck.

“The way I what?” Shiro asks after a moment. It brings Keith out of his reverie.

There’s no track record to imply that Shiro is going to make him feel stupid if he says what he wants to say, but he’s never said anything like this, either. Never needed to. His cheeks are hot.

“I like how you pilot Black. I don’t know. It sort of…”

“Sort of what?”

 _Sort of turns me on_ is the answer. And Keith pictures it again. He can see it in his mind, the way Shiro puts his whole body into it when he throws Black’s throttle forward, sees the square set to his shoulders and the way his hair is always damp when it’s over, the way it gets a little unruly after he takes his helmet off.

His cock stirs again between his legs and he wants to yell at himself for the shitty timing. How convenient that his dick chooses now, of all times and places, to become interested in Shiro. _Shiro_ , of all people, and way the fuck out in space.

It takes a few measured breaths to get control over his thoughts again, and he hopes he’s hiding it well enough. Shiro’s eyes go glassy as he waits through the silence, and the booze thrums inside for a moment again. Keith doesn’t think either of them are totally wasted or anything, but there’s a calm in place that he appreciates nonetheless.

“Nothing,” he says, and forces it out with a little laugh. “Sorry, I think the castle is just getting to me.”

“Getting to you how?”

“I think I’m only this horny cause we’re all stuck in here together. Does that make sense?”

Keith hasn’t seen Shiro this relaxed in a long time. Since before Kerberos. His smile is lazy. “Yeah, maybe. Do you think that makes it less real?”

“I don’t know. It’s kinda like… cheating. Or something.”

Shiro’s eyes gleam in the light as he laughs, and his good hand flies to chest in mock offense. “Are you saying you only think I’m hot because we’re stuck in a spaceship together?”

“Woah,” Keith holds his hands out. “Woah, I didn’t say you were hot.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Fuck,” he covers his face and sits up, dizzy for a moment as he’s trying to stand. “I shouldn’t have said anything, listen I’m gonna go.”

“Wait, wait,” Shiro’s cool metal hand is around Keith’s wrist and he’s sitting up, too. “I’m sorry, wait.”

His ribs ache from sitting up too fast and he tries not to show it in his face.

“Don’t go,” Shiro says. Keith watches where the prosthesis is wrapped around his wrist. It’s built proportional to Shiro’s real hand and it dwarfs Keith’s.

There’s a weird sense of panic bubbling in Keith’s chest and he grits his teeth to breathe through it. It’s ironic how his subconscious is so terrified of being abandoned that it’s too stupid to remember they’re fucking stuck together on a ship. It clouds at the corners of his mind for a moment, but he shakes it off. He thinks he knows better.

“I didn’t mean to be weird,” he mumbles.

“Hey,” Shiro lets go of his wrist only to reposition to Keith’s shoulder. His grip is heavy and reassuring. “It’s not weird. I didn’t mean to tease you, it’s not like that.”

“It’s not like what?”

“You’re right. Y’know, about the castle. It gets to me, too.”

His voice twists in Keith’s chest, his heart, his cock. He blinks up at Shiro.

“Is it weird if I think you’re hot, too?” Shiro asks. His voice has dropped, just above a whisper. Keith isn’t sure what to say, and his mouth opens and closes as Shiro continues. He lets go of Keith’s shoulder and recedes back, relaxed again, until he’s lying down. When he speaks, Keith isn’t sure which one of them he’s talking to. “ _Fuck_. When did you get hot?”

Fuck.

“I think I should go,” Keith says again. He smiles down at Shiro as a peace offering, to keep things from feeling too awkward. He scratches the back of his neck. “I’ll let you… take care of yourself.”

“Why don’t you stay?”

Keith sputters a little and inches closer to the edge of the bed. Shiro doesn’t try to grab him but he shifts, and his shirt rides up over his hips again, and he runs his fingertips over the trail of hair that peeks up over his waistband.

Maybe the silence is enough of an answer, because Shiro gives him a half-smile after a moment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says softly. “I just figured, if we’re both…”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Keith says too quickly. Which is a bit of a lie, but he thinks the lie is out of context. He eases back, tries to breathe even. He rolls his shoulders and wills the tension away until he can lie back down. “I just don’t want to make anything weird.”

“Eh. Little late for that, anyway. We’ve always been kinda weird.”

Keith’s flush goes deeper but he laughs. He wiggles his toes, taps his boot against the floor, runs his hand up and down over his thigh. “Well, um. I’m gonna—is it okay if…”

“Yeah,” Shiro’s voice is quiet. “It’s okay.”

So his hand is hovering over the fly of his pants, and he palms over himself for a moment, letting out a tiny moan in spite of himself as he accidentally grinds the zipper down. He pulls at the fabric and traces the shape of his dick with his fingertips. It’s sort of embarrassing how hard he is already.

Popping the button is silent, but the zipper sounds way louder than it should, probably because he’s on edge already. He’s got his eyes on the ceiling but sees Shiro shift in his peripheral, sees him palm over himself, too. But Keith is a step ahead, and his heart is pounding in his ears as he reaches inside, gets the first touch of bare skin on his shaft. Shiro is moving around a little in the corner of Keith’s eye, slowly rubbing over himself, and he lets out a barely-audible grunt as Keith begins to pull himself out.

The cold air on his dick brings him back to reality for a moment—they’ve been advancing on this line for a little while now but he has the foresight this time to know this is the part that can’t be taken back. It creeps up his skin but doesn’t stop him. He wraps his hand tighter around himself, feels the warm, soft leather of his gloves and dry callouses on his fingertips and he decides it doesn’t matter. His ribs flare up as he takes a deep breath, and he begins to stroke himself, and all the sensation starts to blend together.

He tries to remember how this usually goes, back in his own cabin. Sometimes he’s barely undressed and other times it’s after he’s showered, and he waits until he’s settled in bed where it’s safe and dark and warm. He tries to remember what he usually thinks about through it.

Maybe the pain in his ribs, and the booze, and Shiro lying there next to him are all too distracting. He’s conjured up all kinds of bullshit while he’s jerked off. Sometimes it’s old memories he revisits, or reoccurring wet dreams. He moans a little bit and thumbs at his foreskin and he feels the blush spread down his neck, itchy and hot on his skin with shame as he pictures the last few times it happened. Wasn’t even about sex anymore.

_It’s the violence._

He’s never thought about Shiro like that before, really. It’s not a sex thing. Well, it wasn’t. And now, now…

Sometimes Shiro yells when he’s piloting. Not like the usual commands to the Paladins, just the exertion of throwing Black into gear, activating the weapons. And sometimes, when they’re in Voltron together, he feels Shiro’s voice like a hand touching the base of his skull, even beneath the noise of the others.

Tonight, Shiro had thrown Black’s entire weight into a cruiser, and Keith had watched from above. And he can hear it in his head still, Shiro’s voice through the comms and the way his mic had picked up the crunch of metal from the collision. Now, though, he hears Shiro breathing from the other side of the bed, and the quiet hum of the castle around them, and his free hand goes to rest over where his ribs hurt. It presses softly against the bruises for the contrast as he strokes a little faster. This close, he can smell the soap that Shiro had used when they got back, and the sticky plum notes of the drink they’d shared clinging to his breath.

Never thought about Shiro like this before, but now he can’t stop. He rolls his shoulders back against the bed and sighs at the feeling of his glove against his shaft. It adds friction that shouldn’t be there, but he kinda likes it.

“What are you thinking about?” Shiro asks. Keith breathes hard and braves a glance in his direction.

“I don’t know.”

Shiro laughs quietly. Gently. “Are you lying?”

“No comment.”

He digs his heel flat against the floor, arches his hips upward, rolls into his hand. And fuck, fuck, he shouldn’t be watching Shiro while he does that. It only takes a few seconds and a gasp, a curl of heat between his legs before he makes himself look away.

“Sorry,” Shiro says, and Keith isn’t watching his face anymore but sees the way Shiro is rubbing himself, slowly, over his pants. “It’s not _weird_ is it?”

“Fuck you,” Keith grumbles. “It’s weird that you’re watching me jerk off.”

“Mm,” Shiro lifts his hips so that he can pull his pants down mid-thigh. “Sorry, you’re distracting.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Here,” Shiro says, and Keith tries not to look but he can make out the shape of it, knows that Shiro is wrapping around himself now, too. “Now I’m doing it, too.”

It shouldn’t turn Keith on as much as it does. He whimpers without meaning to and rolls his hips.

“So what are you thinking about?” Shiro asks again.

Fuck.

“How…” he bites his lip, partly from the sensation and partly in thought. This is a chance for an out, he realizes. He could lie. Things are already ruined enough without Shiro learning that he’s a complete freak. But it’s too much, all of it. There isn’t room for thought anymore. His cock is dripping onto his stomach and he tugs at the hem of his shirt, bunches the fabric up over his waist so that it doesn’t get dirty. “How loud it was tonight. How you killed them.”

“Oh?”

“God, just…” a shudder runs over his whole body. “I can feel it, through Voltron, when you do it.”

Shiro moans as he touches himself. “I mean, when it’s Voltron isn’t it all of us killing them?”

“Fuck. Yeah. It’s just…” it should stop here, Keith thinks. He isn’t going to say the rest out loud. He shakes his head to himself, tightens his fist. The energy is beginning to crest. Not that he’s necessarily close yet, but it won’t be difficult to get there. “What about you? What are you thinking about?”

But Shiro’s more confident than Keith is. He doesn’t seem startled or ashamed at all. He’s open enough that the question has him laughing. Keith turns to watch him, sees the way his chest rises and falls with his deep breathing and the way he licks his lips before he answers.

“I’m thinking that we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Keith doesn’t slow his movements. “It was your idea, genius.”

“No, no,” Shiro’s head tilts back for a moment and his thigh muscles flex as he pushes his legs together. “I don’t want to stop. I just meant—hah, fuck—it’s… it’s…”

“…weird?”

They both laugh, mirroring each other’s breathlessness.

It almost feels like instinct to lean forward, to close the space between them. Keith has never been in a situation like this, where he wasn’t trying to escalate. It would be natural to touch Shiro with his free hand, to hook onto the back of his neck, pull in to kiss. His body wants him to do that, but he presses against his sore ribs again as a distraction. This thing they’re doing is already risky, their friendship will become precarious. He breathes through the temptation and keeps his hands to himself.

Shiro, though. His face is slack and his eyes are hooded but the mask slips long enough for Keith to see the concern.

“Are your ribs okay?” he asks. Before Keith can answer, Shiro is reaching across the space between them. It’s an awkward angle, but they’re close enough for him to bridge the gap. His fingers pet over Keith’s side, over his clothes, soft enough that it doesn’t hurt.

He’s maybe too drunk or too turned on for any of it to fall together until Shiro’s fingers are ghosting to the edge of his shirt, then making contact with his skin. And Keith gasps at the sensation, the heat, and it snaps him back into reality.

It’s skin on skin, and Shiro’s fingers are calloused the way Keith’s are, and they’re warm and human and…

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, and his gaze immediately goes to where Shiro is touching himself. He’d been so politely determined not to stare that he hadn’t noticed, it hadn’t even occurred to him.

“What?”

“Your hand, dude,” he says, and jerks himself faster.

Maybe Keith is weird for jerking off with his gloves on, but _holy fuck_ Shiro uses his Galra hand. The human hand massages over Keith’s bruise, squeezes delicately at where he has a welt, and he has a hundred questions he wants to ask. Instead he just stares. There’s a quiet rhythm; he hears the whir of Shiro’s machine parts as he touches himself, and Keith unconsciously begins to match it.

Shiro’s dick is big. Keith had suspected that, but seeing it with his own eyes is sort of shocking. He wants to ask how it feels, and if it’s scary, and if it’s cold. And now that he’s gone too far and seen Shiro like this, it clicks into place with everything else that’s been rolling in his thoughts. Thinking of Shiro as part-machine fits perfectly and the _power_ of it all makes him tremble.

“What?” Shiro asks, and his face goes a little red. A bead of precum is dripping out, shiny over the prosthetic fingers. Keith wonders if he can feel it. “I can’t do it with my left hand. I’ve tried.”

“It’s…” he isn’t sure what he’s trying to say. Too much and not enough.

“It took a lot of practice.”

Keith’s body seizes and he doesn’t even want to know why that was the breaking point. He shuts his eyes and rolls his shoulders, tries not to get cum on his gloves as he pumps himself through it. Shiro’s hand stays on him, thumb rubbing circles over the lines of his bones, just hard enough to feel. He arches his back enough to press harder into Shiro’s touch and the pain adds a beautiful purple richness to the orgasm, enough to smooth out the shock. It has his ears ringing when he eases down, when he lets go of himself.

“God, Keith,” Shiro pulls back and slides his hand beneath the hem of his own shirt, stroking back and forth over his abs for a moment before he bunches the fabric up to pinch at his own nipple. Keith’s head is too foggy to really catalog any of that, just content to ride out his own high for a minute as he watches.

“Is it cold?” he asks. He can hear in his own voice that he’s slurring. “Your hand,I mean.”

Shiro chuckles. “It picks up my body heat pretty fast.”

He risks a glance and sees the way the flushed head is peeking in and out of Shiro’s fist as he strokes himself.

“Are you… scared it’s going to pinch you?”

“No,” Shiro lets out a moan, his voice a little higher than Keith expects it to be. “Well. I mean. It does, sometimes. Pinch. But. I kinda like it.”

“Oh.”

His brain is too fried to make sense of that. He tucks it away for later. His eyes glaze over as he watches, and his ears are ringing as he tells himself he should look away. It’s like being underwater, stuck in slow motion. Shiro twists his own nipples and moans again and Keith’s stuck in a haze as he looks from Shiro fucking his own fist to the dark patch of hair, to the glossy smear of precum he’s leaving on himself, to the lines of his abs, to… to…

Before, he was trying not to look because, because… why? Because it was weird? Because even though he was jerking off with his best friend he could pretend there was some boundary left, some semblance of privacy? Maybe because he didn’t want to be giving his dick any ideas?

But he sees beneath Shiro’s shirt and has to look away from that, too. It’s quick, just a glance before he’s blinking hard and turning to look at the ceiling again, trying to focus on anything else. It’s the perfect timing to ruin his buzz, coming in right as the usual orgasm drop-off sets in. Cold shock that hits him right in the stomach.

He would’ve seen eventually, he’s sure. It would’ve come up somehow.

Still, here and now it’s got that moral compass spinning again, tangling all the nameless emotion together. Injustice and grief and rage and empathy and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be feeling. He shuts his eyes but can’t unsee it. Grits his fucking teeth to steady his breathing.

_What the fuck did they do to you?_

“Fuck,” Shiro whines from beside him. Keith doesn’t open his eyes but he reaches to the side, lets his fingers graze over the cool metal. He doesn’t know if Shiro is watching and doesn’t know if he can even feel it. He’s okay not knowing.

“You close?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna…” Keith feels the arm going faster, maybe faster than a human would be able to move. “Fuck, Keith, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.”

The arm stops abruptly and Keith opens his eyes in time to see it happen. His breath hitches as he sees the ribbons of it shoot out, striping across Shiro’s angry red scars.

It’s a lot to think about. He swallows hard and pushes his hair away from his eyes. Tries to store it all away for later. It’ll be a lot to sort through but he doesn’t think he can deal with it now.

Shiro’s head falls back against the mattress and he wipes his hand on his shirt. It makes Keith smile because he’s too exhausted to actually laugh.

“That’s gross,” he chides, but he begins to do the same. He pulls his shirt down to wipe his own cum off his stomach and begins to button his pants. His cock is spent but still heavy and sensitive. Zipping up makes him wince.

He sits up slowly, hopes he’ll be able to walk straight this time when he stands. Shiro doesn’t move, stays boneless where he is, soft and worn out. Keith’s mind flashes back to the kitchen a couple hours ago, how they’d run into each other scavenging for post-battle snacks, how they’d wound up drinking instead. He’d walked Shiro back to his room with the intention of plopping him into his own bed and then taking off. He’d helped Shiro get his shoes off and everything.

As a friend he thinks he should continue. He should slap Shiro on the arm to get his attention, and shove him out of the way so that he can pull the blankets out from beneath them. He should tuck Shiro in, even if it’s just as a joke, and make sure he has enough water, ask if he thinks he’ll get sick.

Instead, he stands, and stretches, and just stares for a minute. Shiro’s sideways on the bed, his legs still hanging over the side. Dozing off already. He looks like he’ll survive, though. He doesn’t need Keith’s help. Insecurity gnaws on his insides and he thinks he’s probably helped enough.

“I’m gonna head out, then,” he says. He speaks quietly, wondering if Shiro’s really asleep, maybe hoping he won’t respond. He takes a step back, towards the door.

But Shiro stirs. He cracks one eye open and rubs at the other. “Drink water before bed.”

“Yeah,” Keith says absently. He takes another step back, not realizing he’s crossed the whole room until he bumps into the door. He scrambles to turn around, to smack at the panel to open it. “Okay. Yeah. I will.”

And he hears Shiro’s voice as he’s stepping out into the bright white light in the hallway. He squints his eyes.

“Night, Keith,” Shiro’s mumbling. It sounds so casual, like nothing happened.

Keith’s heart squeezes in his chest.

“Night, Shiro,” he says back, right as the door is sliding closed.

His fingers trail along the walls as he walks back to his room. The castle feels smooth and cool, the way Shiro’s arm did. It gives Keith chills.

It’s not that he has this wealth of experience to draw on, but Keith thinks sex is supposed to help you relax. He presses his hand into the damp spot on his shirt and it sends a ripple of apprehension through his body. It has the adrenaline coming back.

His room is dark and cold when he finally returns, and it’s as messy as he left it. He pulls off his boots and falls into his bed fully clothed, gross shirt and everything. There’s an uneasiness crawling through his body, an envy that Shiro is already asleep.

Four months out here and he doesn’t think he’s gotten a single decent night of sleep. It’s enough to make someone fucking crazy.

He scrubs his hands over his face and groans in frustration. He should be sleepy, too. Worn out and sated and content. But the energy is pulsing all over. He should be sleepy but he’s so goddamn keyed up again.

For a moment he runs through the events one more time. The battle, the drinking, the… whatever that was. He rubs his hands over his stomach as if he can coax away the nauseating anxiety beneath his skin. He tries to visualize the timeline, imagines putting each piece into a box that he can store away. Tries to isolate why he’s feeling so uneasy.

It would be easy to blame the sex part. He’s never jerked off with his best friend before.

Actually, he’s never had a best friend before, anyway.

And it would be easy to blame the adrenaline on panic, on regret. But he knows it would be a lie. It’s not regret. Maybe it’s the opposite of regret.

His cock twitches in his pants and his ribs throb as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“The fuck is wrong with you,” he whispers to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I have a Twitter but I don't use it that much so be my friend and send me cool Sheith stuff =D](https://twitter.com/kacyinthecosmos/status/1151405074637381632)


	2. Supernova Goes Pop

_are you the future or are you the past?_  
_have you been chosen or are you the last?_  
_the pictures were sent they seem so unreal_  
_now i'm made of plastic, wire and steel_

* * *

There’s blood in his mouth.

Blood in his mouth and his lights are going out. He paws weakly at the forearm that’s crushing down over his throat, tries to throw his weight against the hold but he’s too small. The Galra adjusts their grip from behind him and his body flops backwards like a doll, like he’s nothing.

He swallows the first mouthful without meaning to; it’s instinct or accident, and it’s his own blood but still disgusts him. He retches and there are black spots in his vision.

Their voices are all drifting up from where his helmet fell on the floor, but he can’t make out what they’re saying. They each have a sort of cadence, a pitch, that have become as familiar as a home, and he kicks his legs, tries to reach it with his foot. He’s not sure what he could do, even if he got to it. He just hopes they’ll hear the scuffle and know something is wrong.

Shiro’s voice is deep and calm, even when Keith can’t hear his words. But he hears the tone, rich and soothing, threading beneath the others. He opens his mouth to call out and the blood pours down over his chin. His voice comes out in a tiny, breathless squeak.

It’s not his first fight. Not even his first chokehold. His fingertips are starting go numb and he’s losing his peripheral vision. This is what happens. It pushes against some threshold that doesn’t even care about survival anymore. His legs feel like static and it’s getting darker, darker. It’s not about survival anymore. He can’t breathe and… if he could just… sleep…

This is fine. His eyes close. It was always leading to this, wasn’t it? His life has been such a fucking mess, for a long time now. Maybe… maybe…

God, his armor is so heavy.

 _Maybe this is better_.

He hears his captor chuckle softly next to his ear, amused and triumphant, and he doesn’t have the energy to get mad about it.

“That’s it, little one,” he says. He begins to lower Keith’s body to the floor. The voices from his helmet are clearer from here, but his ears are ringing too hard to make any of it out. The Galra shifts, pulls his grip tighter, and his voice is light and amused when he purrs the words.“We’ll be sure to tell the Champion how hard you fought.”

Something snaps.

The color comes back into the room, and the oxygen into his blood, and he’s not sure where the extra power reserve is surging from but he has energy again. He twists his body and manages to hook his arm around the Galra’s waist, sweeps his legs to kick out the guy’s ankles. And the pressure is gone. They’re toppling over and he can breathe again, and he’s not thinking as he wrenches the Galra’s arm behind his back, pins him to the floor.

His chest is heaving from the exertion, or the adrenaline, or the fury, he’s not sure. It doesn’t matter. The Galra struggles beneath him and he takes a wild look around the room for his Bayard, not sure where he dropped it. He’s not thinking as he moves, as he straddles over the Galra’s back and tugs the angle of his arm further. It must hurt. It might break.

The voices from his helmet are clear now. Not louder, just clearer. Oxygen is flooding into his brain and he can feel everything, see everything. He’s tapped into a hyper-focus he’s never experienced before.

“You won’t be telling him anything,” he grunts. The rage flashes red in his vision for a moment, swimming in his head, and his whole body feels hot and itchy with it, his fingertips tingle. And he thinks, for a moment, that maybe he can disarm this asshole quietly and calmly, subdue him in a way that’s civil.

Shiro’s voice cuts in from his helmet, still out of reach. “Keith?” he’s asking. His voice is steady and confident, unworried. “Everything okay, buddy?”

Later, he’ll want to pretend he was in a blind rage, but the truth is that Shiro’s voice brings him back into his body. When he snaps the Galra’s neck, he’s in complete control.

The body goes limp beneath him and he settles in against it, take a minute to breathe. He swallows another mouthful of blood by accident and starts retching again. The door bursts open right as he’s leaning aside to puke all over the floor.

His hands are shaking as he stretches forward to get his Bayard, and he’s not sure if he can tap into another dormant energy reserve, but he’s gonna do his fucking best. His stomach is cramping as he gets his hand around it, and his weapon is materializing right as he rolls onto his back, using all his strength to get into a defensive stance against the new intruder.

“Woah, woah,” hands are reaching for him. “Keith it’s me. It’s just me.”

 _Shiro_.

His head throbs and blood is flowing freely from his mouth again. He lowers his weapon and tries to catch his breath.

“Jesus,” Shiro mumbles. He reaches for Keith’s hand, to help him up. “What did I tell you about taking off by yourself? Fuck, man.”

He tongues at the gash on his lip, winces at how it stings as he stands. It looks like Shiro is going to say something else, like he’s winding up for a fucking lecture, but as soon as Keith is upright he starts seeing dots in his vision again. He sways on his feet and Shiro’s hand comes in tight on his bicep. Even through his armor he can feel the heat radiating off it, like Shiro’s been… using it.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asks.

For a moment he considers actually answering, and wonders what the answer is. But his head is fuzzy and he doesn’t get the chance. It feels like he’s floating and he can’t feel his face as he falls forward, crashes into Shiro’s chest, and everything goes black.

* * *

The trip back to the castle is a series of flashes, layered in with the pain in his head and the taste of blood. He sort of remembers being hoisted over Shiro’s shoulder and carried back to Red. He remembers Shiro cracking an inhalant in his face to wake him up and asking if he was okay to pilot.

And yeah, of course he said he was. He wouldn’t have admitted otherwise. Shiro had walked him to his cockpit and hovered over for a few minutes with that super serious Commander Face, studying Keith for a reason to call his bluff. He’d crouched next to the pilot chair and asked him some bullshit triage questions, and Keith pulled it together long enough to get him to leave.

Red did most of the work on the way back. He knows that much. He fallsasleep and wakes to Shiro hovering again, hands on Keith’s shoulders.

“Come on, hot shot,” he mumbles.“Let’s go.”

The adrenaline is worn off and his whole body hurts. He lets out a little whimper as Shiro pulls him to his feet. The bleeding from his split lip had slowed on the trip back, but the cut reopens as he whines against Shiro’s chest.

“Leave me here,” he says. He doesn’t really know what he’s saying. “M’tired, I’ll… sleep in here…”

Shiro is laughing. It’s soft and calm, which is reassuring. It probably means that Keith isn’t as fucked up as he thinks he is. But he feels weak and hurt, doesn’t have the energy to walk. Shiro holds him around the waist and takes the bulk of his weight, leads him slowly.

“Come on,” he says again, because Keith keeps trying to stop. It’s all a blur, leaving the cockpit, then the hangar, then twisting through the castle halls. He keeps reaching out to touch the walls, mumbling excuses that he’s okay.

“M’fine,” he says, and tries to swat Shiro away, but he’s too weak. “M’gonna go to bed, m’fine.”

“Keith,” Shiro says. He’s gentle but he’s got that condescending Garrison tone in his voice. He’s keying a code into a door panel and Keith realizes they’re in the med bay. “We’re almost there, come on.”

“No,” he protests, and tries to shove away, but Shiro’s grip on his waist comes in tighter. It’s solid and strong and doesn’t give at all. “I don’t like them. Please, Shiro, don’t…”

But Shiro has him across the room already, and he’s setting Keith down, sitting him on the steps while he goes to fuss with the center console. Keith tries to stand, puts his hands down on the top step to push himself up, but he slips. The pain washes over fresh and Shiro turns to look over his shoulder. He raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t be a brat,” he says.

“Shiro—”

“Stop talking.”

“I’m fine, this is stupid,” he grumbles, mouth full of blood again. Shiro ignores him this time, and the floor hisses as the hatch opens and the pod raises up. Keith thinks he might puke again.

“Just give it a few hours,” Shiro says. He turns to come back and Keith’s heart leaps into his throat at the sight of the blood smeared all over the chest plate. It’s such a stark contrast to the white, startling and visceral and Keith’s never seen Shiro this injured before. Shiro kneels on the floor in front of him and Keith reaches to touch, his fingers painting little patterns into it.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Shiro is leaning into his personal space to unbuckle Keith’s own armor, piece by piece. He looks down to where Keith is touching and huffs out a dry laugh.

“That’s yours, punk.”

Oh.

He’s protesting, but he doesn’t stop Shiro from removing his armor. He cooperates, holds out his arms, lifts his legs when it’s time. It’s weak and almost insincere when he tries to complain one more time, as Shiro is lifting him back to his feet, leading him by the elbow to the open pod.

“Shiro, really. I’m fine.”

The grip on his elbow is firm, but Shiro rubs a comforting little circle with his thumb. He guides Keith and backs him into the pod, and when they face each other his smile is wilting, full of exhaustion and pity.

“You’re not fine,” he says. He holds Keith by the chin and turns his head side to side, staring hard into his face. Keith’s legs buckle and he has to hold the walls of the pod to stay upright. Shiro holds a finger in front of Keith’s face. “Follow.”

He’s moving his hand back and forth and Keith wants to cooperate, he really does. Because disappointing Shiro always makes him want to die. But he can barely keep his eyes open as it is, and he gives up after a few seconds. He tilts to the side, leans his face into the glass. Shiro snorts and pats him on the shoulder.

“Just humor me,” he says, and the smile that comes onto his face is so… so…

“You’re a bastard.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll come get you in a bit.”

And the door is closing, and the cold, sweet air is filling the capsule. He slumps against the wall, closes his eyes. Breathes deep.

He’s felt like this already tonight, this pull at his consciousness, this soft coaxing from reality. Earlier, it had been encased with anger and pain, but now it’s… light, pleasant, dreamy. His body is begging him to give in and he doesn’t want to fight anymore. The air is soothing on his skin. It tastes good. Another deep breath, and another, and… and…

He dreams.

It’s disjointed and frightening and he won’t remember most of it, but in the moment that doesn’t matter. The terror is bone deep, physical and paralyzing, and he doesn’t know what’s real.

He’s back on the Galra ship, back in the chokehold. Something pops in his throat and he can taste his own blood. The Galra is laughing in his ear again and this time Keith knows he’s not going to win.

Everything is dark after that.

His eyes are open, but it’s dark. Pitch black. He can’t see his hands in front of his face and reaches for anything, any clue. The walls are cold, damp with condensation, and there’s a metallic smell in the air that clings to the inside of his mouth.

No way out, and he sits in the corner. The dark is infinite, invasive. He clamps his mouth shut, covers his ears, as if that can keep it out.

But then he’s being summoned, pulled by his arms, into the light. Purple hallways like the Galra always have, and they’re winding and winding through like a maze. He tries to focus but isn’t sure he’ll be able to find his way out, even if he can break free. He’s too disoriented, it’s too much.

When they push through the doors into the arena the noise is oppressive, like a physical barrier. Keith raises his hands to block the light, squints against it. The guards shove him forward and he stumbles into the pit, and the sounds of the crowd around him make him feel so small.

Shiro hasn’t been open about his captivity; Keith only knows the basics. It’s enough that he recognizes where he is, knows what he’ll have to do. He can hear his own pulse, feel the blood rushing in his ears when he lowers his arms, lets his eyes adjust, wonders who they’re pitting him again.

His head hurts as it all comes into focus. He sees the guards push his opponent through the opposite doors. Bile is rising in his throat and he steps forward to get a better look. It’s an alien, some species he doesn’t recognize, and he can’t tell if they’re just small or… maybe it’s a child.

He won’t remember most of this dream, but there will be residual terror clinging to him when he wakes. Terror, and grief, and regret. He’ll still be able to conjure the memory of bones snapping beneath his hands, and he’ll know it’s from the Galra he’d taken out in the real world, but he’ll worry it’s also from these others. He’ll rub his hands together when he wakes, shake them out as if it can erase the tactile memories, because he won’t be able to stop thinking about how defenseless they all were. How small.

The bio-scanner on the pod knows when he wakes and he practically falls out when the door slides open. He’s gasping for breath, holding his chest, sinking down to the floor to get his bearings.

It’s dark in the room and his armor is gone. Shiro must have put it away for him. He needs a minute to take stock of his injuries, to flex and stretch, to touch his face where there had been open wounds. There’s no mirror in here but his skin feels mended. Nothing hurts. But his chest is tight, and his eyes sting, and it feels like something is stuck in his throat.

_They were small._

There’s no clock in here but the castle lights are still dimmed to night mode, so maybe he woke up too soon. No Shiro here to greet him, but that’s okay. He feels too fragile to look at Shiro right now, anyway.

Too soon to be awake, but he feels healed. He takes another few minutes to breathe, to come back into his body. To be honest, he hasn’t felt this good in weeks, physically. But he still feels tense, anxious, guilty. And maybe…

Maybe he _should_ hurt, just a little. He rubs his temples. The memory of being choked by the Galra is so vivid, he can practically still feel the way he’d been squeezed into the crook of the guy’s arm, still feel the dull press of armor digging into his jaw and how the pressure on his trachea made him gag. He shudders at the thought, still nauseating, and touches his throat. There must have been bruises; he wonders if Shiro saw them.

It’s fucked up that he wishes he could still feel it, that there could be some remnant of all it. He probably deserves it. There should be bruises, something he should be able to press against to remind himself.

So he could get up and dust himself off, and go shower, because there’s still dried blood in his hair, and his flight suit is stiff with it. A stupid voice in his head tells him it’s what Shiro would want him to do. But he’s so light on his feet when he stands, so buoyant and completely unharmed, that he takes off in another direction.

At first, when he enters the training deck, every sound puts him on edge. He wants to blame the nightmares he’s still trying to shake, but there’s also this weird paranoia nagging at him, like he’ll wake everyone up or something. Never mind that they’re too far away, and never mind that he seriously doesn’t give a shit about waking anyone up, but… it’s the thought of Shiro, really. Keith knows better. He knows he should go to bed. He knows it’s what Shiro would’ve told him to do, but he needs this.

He sets the program a level higher than he’s usually comfortable with and doesn’t stop until his knuckles are bloody.

* * *

The thing is, Shiro is either perfect or he’s a fucking douchebag.

Keith peels off his clothes and leaves them all over the floor of the training deck’s communal shower. There’s more blood than he expected, flaky beneath the flight suit, covering his skin in a layer of rust. He tests the temperature of the shower water before stepping into it, and at first he just stands there under the spray. He braces against the wall, lets his head hang, moans when the heat hits the back of his neck.

And, well. Keith knows better, most of the time. Like of course Shiro is perfect, that’s the truth. There’s a rational, fact-based core in his mind that tells him so, but he can’t shake the paranoia.

It’s been quiet the last few weeks. Until tonight. And that’s a good thing, Keith thinks. Everyone has had time to rest and train and Coran has been able to make repairs to the castle. They could all use the break and he shouldn’t be complaining, but he’s been on edge.

The heat is starting to make him sleepy when he remembers to try to actually bathe. He reaches for the soap and begins to lather it over himself, watching the swirl of bubbles and blood flow across the floor by his feet.

He’s never going to confess it out loud, but the last couple weeks he’s been… sort of bored. Not that he wants anything bad to happen, but it’s been hard to keep his mind occupied. And he’s been thinking a lot. About what happened with Shiro. There’s nothing better to do than analyze it, over and over. Analyze and overanalyze.

Maybe Keith is the douchebag.

The ironic part is that the urge to talk about it swells in his chest every time they’re around each other. And not in some sappy way, like he doesn’t need Shiro to turn into some gentleman and kiss his hand and get romantic or anything. It’s not that. It’s just that Shiro is the person he always talks to when something doesn’t make sense, when he needs an override on his own bullshit.

He keeps waiting for it to collapse, keeps expecting things to get awkward, to the point that he’s probably making it awkward himself. But Shiro has been the same as always. He isn’t treating Keith any differently from before, for better or worse. There’s still the comfortable, platonic distance and he can still be a huge dick when he pushes too hard during drills. He still makes same small talk, with his stupid dad humor, and still claps Keith on the shoulder more often than one person strictly ever needs to.

It’s tough getting the blood out from under his fingernails. He tries to use the corner of the shampoo packet and curses a little when it folds and does nothing.

So Shiro’s acting like nothing happened. That’s what Keith wanted, right? Didn’t want to ruin things. Didn’t want to make it weird. He tells himself he’s only being insecure because he’s bored. Shiro is behaving perfectly, being a fucking adult. No drama. This is fine.

Still, there’s this dark little voice that keeps grinding in his head. If Shiro’s just being chill about it, that’s fine. It’s perfect. Keith appreciates it. But if he’s just gonna ignore it forever… pretend it didn’t happen…

“There you are,” comes a voice from behind. Shiro’s voice. Keith shudders and pushes his hair back from his face, turns around.

Shiro is standing in the doorway, just outside the spray of the water. Keith has enough sense to consider covering himself up, or being startled, embarrassed, but he realizes he doesn’t care.

“Hey,” he says. He catches the way Shiro glances down at his shredded knuckles, but he doesn’t say anything. When he looks back up and meets Keith’s eyes, his stomach goes cold.

“I came to check on you and you were gone,” he says.

“Well you found me.”

Shiro’s head tilts to the side as he watches, and his eyes sweep across the room. He almost says something and hesitates, then takes a step forward, staying safely contained in the dry part of the floor. He isn’t wearing shoes. The silence goes on long enough to be uncomfortable, and right as Keith’s about to scramble for something to say, Shiro comes forward again. The bottoms of his sweatpants go dark where they soak up the water from the floor, and the shower mist makes spots across his shirt.

“Turn around,” he says, and his eyelids flutter as he steps too close, as the spray gets in his face. Keith is too shocked too move, too confused.

“What are you doing?”

“I said turn around.”

“Why?” he can feel his face crunching into disbelief, sarcasm, irritation. “The fuck?”

But even as he’s saying it, as he hears the edge of annoyance in his own voice, he’s complying. He turns towards the wall and looks back over his shoulder, sees how Shiro’s shirt is starting to cling to his chest. What the fuck.

“You missed a spot,” Shiro says, and he’s reaching around to grab the soap. Keith almost asks again, but he feels Shiro’s hands on his shoulder blades before he can manage. His muscles go tense as Shiro rubs the soap into his skin.

“Oh. Um,” he feels stupid when Shiro’s fingers dig into a knot and his skin breaks out in chills. “Thanks.”

It doesn’t take this long to wash blood from his back. He stares down at his hands, picks at the edge of one of the scrapes.

“So. Training?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” he’s trailing up Keith’s back now, rubbing his thumb at the base of Keith’s neck. He tries not to moan.

“Dunno. Thought you’d be mad.”

Shiro laughs under his breath but doesn’t comment. Both of his hands slide upward, both of them warm, and he’s big enough that his fingers hook over Keith’s shoulders, massage his clavicles.

“You do that to your hands on accident?”

Even under the heat of the water, Keith can feel himself blushing. “Are you asking as my CO or as my friend?”

Shiro’s hands hesitate for a moment as he thinks about the answer, but when he continues he’s so gentle. “Both.”

“Sorry, I just…” just what? He presses his thumb into the wounds on the opposite hand and can still feel the way the Galra’s bones had snapped. “When I woke up from the healing pod, I don’t know. It was too much. I just needed to feel human.”

The tension starts to leave his frame as Shiro kneads into him. His posture goes slack and he begins to ease backwards into the touch.

“I get it,” Shiro says after a while. Keith’s eyelids are getting heavy and he rolls his head back, allowing himself to lean against Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro slows down and changes his angle, lets his hands trail down to Keith’s lower back. It gives Keith space to twist and see Shiro’s face better.

“You still have your clothes on,” he says. Shiro smirks and looks down at his own body. His thumbs press hard into the dimples near the bottom of Keith’s spine.

“Should I take them off?”

Keith gives him an eye roll and doesn’t dignify him with a response, then turns to face forward again. He closes his eyes. “You’re good at this.”

Shiro doesn’t respond but his hands slide lower. Keith wishes it felt more clinical than it does, and Shiro works over his glutes for a few seconds before returning to a respectful position above the belt. Keith’s face is burning.

“Really, though,” Shiro says. “Are you okay?”

And maybe Keith is the douchebag, because here’s his best friend, taking care of him, looking out for him when no one else does, doing nothing wrong except being concerned, and Keith’s only answer is to laugh. He pushes wet strands of hair away from his face and rubs his eyes as the laughter rolls over him. Shiro groans.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he grumbles.

“So I hear.”

They lapse into silence, and Shiro’s hands slow down. He grabs gently around Keith’s ribs and Keith wonders if he’s going to stop.

“Did you…” Shiro’s voice is quieter, barely audible over the water, “…get yourself off?”

Keith chokes on the water and his eyes open. “What?”

“Well, you said. You know. Every time you almost die. Did you do it?”

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

There’s a jolt in his body and he’s not sure if it’s anxiety or arousal. Could be both. He looks down and sees how his cock is reacting, the fucking traitor, extremely interested in the question. But Keith is a disaster, and he loves to ruin things, so any option for a civilized response goes straight out the window.

“Are you offering?” he asks.

He doesn’t expect the sharp pinch to his side, and he squirms away with a yelp. Shiro’s metal hand locks around his waist to keep him where he is.

“You are such a brat," Shiro says. His grip loosens enough to pet up and down Keith’s side. “But. Yeah. I guess I was offering. If that’s… something you want.”

He’s glad Shiro can’t see his face, because he knows he’s turning red. It’s uncomfortable how he trembles a little, how his breath shakes on the way out, how the blood surges right to his cock. Shiro can probably see all of those things, probably knows the answer.

Yes, _fuck yes_ , is the answer. But it’s also uncomfortable trying to say it.

His heart in his ears is as loud as the water and maybe he takes too long to answer, because Shiro begins to back off. But Keith slaps at Shiro’s hand, resting on his waist, before he can draw away.

“Yeah,” he whispers. He doesn’t know if Shiro hears him over the shower. He clears his throat and tries again. “Please.”

“Okay,” he says simply. He steps closer, so that his wet clothes are pressed to Keith’s back, and pets up and down his ribs again. The prosthesis settles on Keith’s hip bone, fingers hook into his ilium. The human hand glides slowly around his body, cages him in by the sternum.

Keith’s muscles go stiff again, despite the warmth, despite being freshly massaged, and he can feel the strength in Shiro’s hand as he tries to breathe normally. Shiro can probably feel how crazy his heart is going and it gets him stuck in a loop; he’s so nervous and embarrassed about it that it won’t calm down.

“I need you to relax,” Shiro says. “Are you sure this is okay? You’re very tense.”

“Sorry,” he says. He looks down and watches Shiro’s hands on his naked body. The prosthesis is shiny beneath the water. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

“Should I stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head to emphasize his point and takes a deep breath to calm down. “I’ve just had a really fucked up night, I don’t know.”

“All right,” his voice is soft and gentle, comforting, condescending. He pets his hand up and down, gradually getting lower. He scratches lightly over the hair beneath Keith’s navel. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He does, probably. His eyes sting and he looks away to the corner of the room. It’s too much to say, though. He’s not sure where to start. Not sure he wants Shiro to know the whole truth, anyway.

 _I fucking killed someone tonight_ , he could say. And if he really wants to make it weird he could tack on _I enjoyed it._ But before he can figure out the words Shiro’s hand wraps around his cock and he can’t think about it.

“Fuck,” he hisses. Shiro’s hand is so big and warm. He presses his thumb to Keith’s slit, moves in tiny circles until he’s fully hard. Strokes down and presses into the pressure point at the root, right over his balls. Keith’s legs shake.

 _Jesus_.

It doesn’t… surprise Keith that Shiro is so deft. Surprise isn’t really the right word. It isn’t something he ever thought about, though. It’s pleasant, maybe it’s even funny, but it isn’t a surprise. Keith thinks it makes sense. Shiro is good at everything he does, so why would this be any different.

He can’t help the way his voice starts falling out of his mouth. He bites his lip to stay quiet as Shiro pulls at him in long strokes, over and over, making sure to bump the head each time. He squirms and presses back against Shiro’s body. The wet fabric is distracting and he wants bare skin, but doesn’t know if he should ask.

“You doing okay, buddy?” Shiro asks. The speed increases and Keith’s head falls back. He turns away so that Shiro won’t see his face, presses his temple to Shiro’s shoulder.

“Hah, just great,” he pants. “You’re actually… really good… at this…”

Shiro laughs. The prosthesis eases and drifts lower, the fingers following the V of his groin. He presses into the soft skin, massages over Keith’s pelvis.

“What a glowing compliment.”

His instinct is to be snarkier, brattier, maybe to save face or maybe to keep things feeling normal, but Shiro is stringing his entire body tight. There’s no space for it. Even the way he’s breathing onto the back of Keith’s neck, the way he can feel it in spite of the shower steam, all of it. He rubs his right hand over the prosthesis to do something with his nervous energy, feeling out all the tiny spaces between the plates.

“So you can…” he clears his throat and tries to keep his voice steady, “…jerk off other people with your left hand? Just not yourself.”

“Obviously,” he says, the like it’s nothing. Keith feels the shrug. “Can’t everyone? How else do you multitask?”

“Multitask,” Keith snorts.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” his strokes slow down and he tilts his head to speak closer to Keith’s ear. “Did you not need this skill to blow creeps in public bathrooms?”

Keith shifts and his knees come together for a moment. He attempts to thrust forward into Shiro’s hand, but the prosthesis grips hard and holds him still.

“Come on, don’t be a dick,” he grunts. He grabs Shiro’s left hand with his own, tries to guide him to speed back up. “They weren’t creeps.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You’d be surprised,” he laughs a little as Shiro resumes, and rubs his cheek against the wet shirt. The pleasure is rolling through again, satisfying and alive, but not enough to distract him from his own amusement. His mind flashes on some of his old escapades, on the number of Garrison officers he’d made it through before they kicked him out.

God, if Shiro only knew.

“Why? What’s your type?”

And…

The question doesn’t make him want to stop, really. It’s not like that, and he betrays himself with a low moan to prove his own point. But it’s this invasive moment of reality, of clarity. He lets go of Shiro’s hand to press his bruised knuckles to his own mouth, to muffle the noise.

Shiro should know this stuff. The way Keith’s mind had flashed on real memories, it flashes on the hypotheticals as well. How different this could’ve been. If Shiro had come back in one piece, and maybe Keith would’ve made it to drinking age, and maybe they could go clubbing together and tease each other about guys. He imagines Shiro trying to give him advice and that all of it would be so goddamn cheesy.

But… Shiro would know this stuff. They would’ve talked about stuff like this.

He shakes his head and tries to focus. Shiro must be able to feel way his body has tensed back up, and he slows down again. His fingertips draw circles on the underside of Keith’s cock, press into one of the veins.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Keith squeezes his hands into fists, tight enough that his wounded knuckles ache with the strain.

“I…” god. Shiro teases him sometimes, calls him bratty, and this really is so fucking bratty. His face is burning. “I don’t think I can come like this.”

Shiro flexes his fist around Keith’s cock, like he’s thinking about it.

“Okay?” his thumb and index finger trace circles around his crown. He doesn’t seem offended, which is good. Keith kind of wants to die. “Is there something else I can do? Do you want to be alone?”

“No. No, don’t go,” he says. It earns him another few strokes. “Could you…”

He’s pushed a lot of Shiro’s boundaries, the whole time they’ve known each other. Even up until they’ve fooled around last time, and somehow Shiro isn’t put off yet. They’re stuck together in the castle, out in space, that much is true, but Keith doesn’t underestimate his ability to ruin a good thing, to make it fucking weird. And of course, if he ruins it with Shiro, it’ll compromise the entire atmosphere of the castle, of Voltron, and it can’t possibly be worth the risk. He needs to learn when to shut his fucking mouth, because there’s no way he should be asking Shiro for this.

But Shiro jerks him off faster and his voice is so smooth. “What? You can tell me.”

It feels like the floor goes out from under his feet when he blurts it out, but thankfully Shiro is there to hold him up.

“I need you to choke me.”

To his credit, Shiro doesn’t stop what he’s doing. He pulls at Keith’s cock in long, patient strokes. He doesn’t say anything right away.

“Please,” Keith says, vaguely humiliated this time. “Just. Humor me?”

Shiro keeps moving but doesn’t answer. The silence presses in hard around them, enough that Keith is almost ready to bail, but finally he speaks.

“If I choke you, will you tell me what happened tonight?”

Jesus. Keith forces a chuckle to break to the tension.

“Are you asking as my CO or as my friend?”

Shiro’s laughter rumbles through his chest and Keith feels it reverberate through their bodies. “I need to know what’s going on with my team.”

Keith squeezes his eyes closed and tries to roll his face into Shiro’s shoulder again, as if that can absolve him from speaking, but Shiro slows down to lure him into it. He whines for a moment and tries to grind his body forward, but finally he caves.

“I should’ve swept the room better. You taught me better.”

“Hey, that’s okay,” hard strokes and a gentle squeeze to his balls. “We all make mistakes.”

“He was choking me. I thought I was gonna die.”

Shiro hums in understanding. He wiggles the fingers on his prosthesis and lifts it from Keith’s hip. The thumb and forefinger run up and down Keith’s collar bones for a moment before settling over his throat, but there’s no pressure.

“Like this?”

Fuck, Keith wonders if Shiro’s hand ghosting him like that will make a liar of him. Coming seems incredibly close like this. He gasps from the thrill of it and shakes his head.

“No, it was like—” a twist of Shiro’s hand interrupts him “—a headlock.”

“Oh,” he says, and he moves slowly like a snake. The way his arm comes up is languid and luxurious, unhurried as he hooks his right hand onto Keith’s left shoulder. The wet fabric of his sleeve sticks to Keith’s chest and slides down as he moves, so that when he settles in it’s just metal against his skin. “Like this?”

Keith goes to nod but his head is stuck in place. “Y-yeah. Yes.”

This close, he can hear the mechanical pur of Shiro’s arm as he pulls in tighter. His forearm and bicep close in on Keith’s arteries but the air is still getting in. He breathes slow and shaky through it and feels the blood swelling in his face.

“Are you sure they weren’t creeps?” Shiro asks. Something seems incongruous about how light his tone is, like the whole thing is kind of funny to him. Keith imagines situations like this to be darker. Then again, it’s hard to imagine Shiro being necessarily _sultry_. He jerks Keith faster as he continues his thought. “Only creeps are into stuff like this, Keith.”

He’d laugh but he doesn’t feel capable. Every nerve in his body is occupied with what Shiro is doing to him. Instead he just feels weak, overpowered by the sensation. His mouth hangs open and he thinks he’s drooling, but he hopes the shower water will disguise what a mess he is.

The whole situation is already humiliating; he’s already mad at himself for being too honest, allowing himself to be so exposed. It was already getting sort of weird between them before without this bullshit. And it’s humiliating enough without the way his voice is betraying him, the way he’s whimpering and panting. Being choked makes it sound so much more pathetic, so desperate. He feels like such a whore.

“You getting close?” Shiro asks. He keeps twisting his hand on the downstrokes and it’s making Keith see stars. He tries to nod again, but Shiro tightens his arm. Keith hears the parts humming inside.

His voice is a tiny squeak, like how it had been with the Galra. When he’d almost fucking died. And he almost tries to answer again, but a quick hint of pain interrupts his thoughts. It’s shallow and red, superficial, and it flashes hot and cold over his skin for a second and he knows exactly what it is.

_It does, sometimes. Pinch. But. I kinda like it._

The skin over his Adams’ apple is stuck in the crease of Shiro’s arm, by his elbow. He doesn’t think Shiro can even tell.

And it’s over for him right then and there. His legs lock and he’s gasping for breath as he comes all over himself, all over Shiro’s hand.

Shiro laughs softly and strokes him through it, slowing down gradually and loosening his arm just the same. Keith goes boneless and slumps back against his body, against the weird texture of his wet clothes, and can feel the hardon digging into his lower back. It takes a moment for his head to clear and to catch his breath, and Shiro gives him a few more rubs across his shoulders to ease him down.

“What about you?” Keith asks, as soon as he’s able to. His voice is a little hoarse. He continues to face forward, but lets his head hang as Shiro runs his thumb up and down over the back of his neck. He’s not sure he wants to look Shiro in the face, but feels like it would be rude not to offer to return the favor.

“I’m fine,” he says. He sounds like he means it. Relaxed and sincere. “I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“Okay.”

“You should, too.”

He snorts a laugh and turns to put the water a little warmer.

“Seriously,” Shiro says. Keith hears his footfall on the tiles, knows he’s backing off, but he puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Get some sleep. That’s an order from your CO.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He draws back and Keith can hear him moving again. His wet footsteps plop against the tiles when makes it back to the main part of the room. And Keith still isn’t watching, but hears the way he’s hovering, hesitating by the doorway.

“I need you in one piece, Keith.”

God, if there’s a quicker way to make him feel like a complete dick. He sighs, and manages to turn, to meet Shiro’s face.

“Yeah. I get it.”

He senses that Shiro has more to say, but Shiro’s always been good at picking his battles. He nods and gives Keith a tired half-smile.

“Okay. Well, good night.”

Keith is a beat too late and Shiro’s back is already turned, already half out the door when he speaks up.

“Thanks,” he says. “For tonight.”

Shiro looks over his shoulder, meets his gaze. His smile is tight but his eyes are warm. He nods.

“I’m sorry I ran off,” Keith adds, rushing through the words a little. The water is pelting him in the head and plastering his hair to the side of his face and he feels ridiculous, but he’s trying to do the right thing and stay in the moment.

“I’m sorry, too,” Shiro says, and sighs. He’s dripping water all over the floor and when he runs his hand nervously over his hair it sprays against the wall. “I should’ve noticed. I should’ve been there sooner.”

It’s a ridiculous thing for him to say, really. But Keith has known Shiro a long time and isn’t surprised. And he’s known Shiro long enough that he doesn’t feel like arguing about it. He just nods again, and Shiro stares for a few seconds longer than he should. Keith’s orgasm is wearing off and his skin is starting to pull tight in discomfort when Shiro finally continues for the door.

He turns back to the wall and listens to Shiro leave. He rinses himself off one more time, makes sure he gets all the cum. Shuts off, dries off. His flight suit is disgusting, maybe ruined, but there are extra robes in here. He wraps one around himself and hopes he doesn’t look too stupid, hopes no one will see him on the walk back to his cabin.

The other time with Shiro, it hadn’t even helped. He’d wound up jerking off again before bed, stubbornly trying to ignore that it was to his own mental replay.Succumbing to his own misdirected horniness towards Shiro had been a positive feedback loop that only made everything worse.

But this time he feels worn out. Actually worn out. He’s been destroyed and put back together tonight and he’s fucking _tired_. He doesn’t even take the robe off when he gets there, just crawls right into bed with it on.

He won’t want to admit it later, but it’s the best sleep he’s had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Talk to me about Sheith stuff!](https://twitter.com/kacyinthecosmos/status/1153352693521571840)


	3. When Worlds Collide

_what is it really that's going on here?_  
_you've got your system for total control_  
_now is there really anybody out there?_  
_now watch us suffer_  
_yeah, cause we can't go_

* * *

Shiro is waiting down in the hangar by Red’s feet, and Keith’s heart squirms in his chest. He watches as Shiro lifts his helmet up, holds it near his face to speak into the comm.

“Are you coming down?” he asks.

He has to take stock of his feelings for a moment, check in with himself. The apprehension roils his stomach. He’s been anxious lately, and asking himself if it’s because he doesn’t want to be doing this thing they’re doing. If he’s just nervous, that’s okay. He can accept that. They’re in a stressful situation and the delicate social balance within Voltron could have a disastrous effect on the fate of the universe. It’s a lot of pressure.

But he doesn’t think it’s because he doesn’t want it.

Keith’s life recently has taken on a duality that he wouldn’t have expected out in space. It seems so mundane and dramatic sometimes, like high school shit. It’s a balancing act between whether or not he’s attracted to Shiro, or whether or not what they’re doing is weird, and it seems appropriately dictated by whether or not they’ve been busy with Voltron. When it’s boring, he has nothing better to worry about. And when it’s busy…

Well, when it’s busy is where the problem lives.

He takes extra time in Red’s cockpit, fussing over the center console and watching how Shiro waits. Even from this far away he could see the uneven gait as he approached, and he can see how filthy the armor is. They’re both injured, but the usual excuse of _almost died_ might be a stretch tonight. Shiro is shifting his weight from side to side but he looks stiff.

“I’ll be right down,” he finally answers. He pulls his helmet off and checks his hair in the reflection on the visor. Even as he combs it with his fingers, he’s not sure why he cares. It’s a little hopeless, sticking up in some places and gracelessly plastered to his head in others, but it’s the best he can do.

Up close, Shiro’s isn’t much better.

Seeing Shiro like this, sweaty and disheveled, should be such a turn off. It should remind him of all the things they’ve been through and the way he’s seen too much, remind him that they’re too comfortable together for Shiro to ever be attractive. Keith tells himself that, anyway, in theory. But it doesn’t quite land where he wants it to.

For a moment they just stare at each other, both still catching their breath. That duality rises in him; there’s the sneaking sense of trepidation putting his defenses on edge, not sure if it’s a great idea that they’re gonna fucking do this again, but also the ache that’s growing in his belly, because he _wants to_.

Keith breaks first.

“What’s up?” he asks. He leans against Red’s paw, pretends to be relaxed.

Shiro’s eyes narrow as if trying to read him better. He’d probably seem more irritated if he didn’t know Keith so well, if he didn’t expect this on some level. There’s no incredulous eye-rolling and no accusations that Keith is only pretending to be so coy. But he continues to just stare.

Keith wonders if it’s a challenge. Maybe Shiro wants to see which one of them buckles first, admits it out loud. It’s an even match, he thinks. Shiro’s patience is legendary, for sure, but Keith can be stubborn as fuck and he knows it.

Still, he _wants_.

He doesn’t say anything but his shoulders finally fall, his posture relaxes. It’s the answer to an unspoken question and he steps forward, ready to follow. Shiro is good enough that he doesn’t gloat about it, but he nods his head in the direction of one of the store rooms. He lets Keith lead the way.

It feels weird, gives him butterflies, when the door closes behind them. It’s a small space, cold and bleak with sterile white light. It shouldn’t feel sexy and Shiro’s hand on his lower back shouldn’t send shocks through his nerves.

It’s happened a couple more times and Keith wonders if he should worry that it’s almost becoming a ritual. Falling into a pattern will be too comfortable, and Keith knows better than to get too comfortable. But it’s hard to avoid, in the moment.

Because being in these moments themselves is a duality, as well. He can be around Shiro on the bridge or in the gym or the mess room and it feels the same as always. Even when they’re alone, they don’t talk about it. Things feel the way they’ve always felt.

But something happens to him in the moment. He can write it off as horniness but it feels so much more intense. It makes him so reckless. He’s been turning the shower incident over and over in his mind since it happened, utterly humiliated that he asked his best friend to _choke him_ , but he remembers how deep the _need_ felt at the time.

Last week, Shiro had made eyes at him from across the common room, right the fuck in front of everyone as they’d all sprawled over the couches in exhaustion, and Keith keeps wondering if they were subtle enough when they left the room together. They’d kept their hands to themselves and Keith had been upright, back pressed to Shiro’s door and his cum had made a mess on the floor. Shiro had watched from he corner of his bed, tucked against the wall, his legs crossed and his cheekbone still swelling from where he’d taken shrapnel to the face. His arm clicked and hummed through it and the grunt he’d let out when he came was so quiet but Keith hasn’t been able to unhear it.

Then, two days ago, it had been in the triage room in the med bay, after Shiro had hovered over him and applied plasma gel to a gash on his forehead, their faces so close that they were breathing each other’s air. He’d rubbed it in so gently, with his bare human thumb, even blew on it when he was done. They’d sat across from each other on opposite gurneys afterwards, then cleaned up with pads of gauze. Keith’s wound was fully mended by the time they left.

And here, now.

Shiro is limping and Keith can still taste his bloody nose in the back of his throat but they don’t seem too wrecked. He rolls his shoulders and tenses and relaxes some different muscle groups to check for injuries, but thinks he’s okay. He’s laughing a little when he turns around, and his armor thuds as he leans too hard into the wall.

“I mean, we’re not even that hurt today,” he says, and raises an eyebrow. Shiro is half perched on a utility case and fussing with the front of his pants, his gloves balled up beside him. His breathing is hitched.

“You did so good, though.”

Keith isn’t sure what to think of that. He fusses with his own pants to distract himself.

It really is a pain, not designed to be torn off in heat like this. Even when he gets his cock free, it’s rubbing against the fabric and he doesn’t have enough space to work with. He tears off his glove with his teeth to at least feel his bare hand.

He’s alarmed by how hard he is already. He can’t remember if he’d noticed on the way down to the hangar, or the walk to the store room. Maybe his body is learning a Pavlovian response. It’s becoming too normal.

But it’s that thing again. In the moment, he doesn’t care. Doesn’t worry about it. He wraps around himself and begins to move, lets the feeling flow warm through his body. In the moment it feels right.

“It’s kinda gross in here,” he mumbles. He watches the way his words register on Shiro’s face, the way he looks around the room to see for himself. Keith takes it as an opportunity to look at Shiro’s dick, while he’s not watching. He’s seen it a few times now but he still feels shocked by how big it is, keeps needing to look as if to prove to himself that it wasn’t his imagination.

“I’ve seen worse,” Shiro says, and he’s twisting his Galra hand, tilting his head back.

Keith tries to laugh but it gets stuck in his throat. He tries to keep his gaze above the waist, on Shiro’s face, but it’s so distracting. Maybe he shouldn’t be so reserved, though. Maybe Shiro won’t care. He swallows hard and thumbs at his cockhead, wants to speak, to fill the silence with something aside from the sounds of their movements. It’s the thrum of Shiro’s arm again, and the way the pieces of his armor are tapping into each other.

For a moment he just focuses on not moaning out loud, but he slows down, finds his voice.

“What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?”

Shiro’s eyes close and his mouth twitches like he’s going to laugh. “I mean, what do you consider weird?”

“Like, I don’t know,” he breathes through his teeth for a second and tries to even his weight against the wall but his jetpack sets him off kilter. “Somewhere public? Somewhere fucked up? Come on, you gotta have something. I know the Boy Scout act is a gimmick.”

There’s a pause; Keith isn’t sure if it’s in thought or if he’s just focusing on what he’s doing. But his strokes have slowed and his eyes are still closed. “Tell me yours.”

Well, that’s easy enough, he thinks. Keith knows the answer immediately.

“Iverson’s desk.”

Shiro jolts to a halt, his eyes fly open. He squeezes around his cock for a moment, not moving. His mouth gapes like he’s not sure what to say.

“It wasn’t Iverson, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Keith amends, laughing as he pants around his own pleasure.

“Who was it!”

Keith shrugs with his left shoulder. He quickens the pace of his hand, blending in some of the memory. Some fresh officer, barely graduated, obsessed with Keith’s sim records. “I don’t remember his name,” Keith says, which is true. He remembers pressing the guy down onto Iveron’s desk, a firm hand between the shoulder blades, pounding into him as he drooled all over the interactive surface map. “He got cum in the carpet.”

Shiro’s mouth is still open, trying to form around words, but he gives up. He begins to move his hand again. “You’re an absolute animal,” he says. For some reason, it makes Keith bloom with pride. “Please tell me this isn’t why they kicked you out.”

“Nah,” he tries to let it roll off, tries to make it sound casual. It’s fine.

“I should never have left you alone,” Shiro says.

He means it like a joke. Keith gets that. But it makes something rip open inside. His heart pounds in his ears and he tries to keep up his own pace, to focus, to let it go. Doesn’t want to make it weird.

“Well what about you, then? You didn’t answer.”

Shiro licks his lips and his head tilts back, but he maintains eye contact. It takes him a moment to collect himself, to say it out loud. His human hand runs idly over his chest plate as if it’s instinct to play with his nipples. He’s always playing with his nipples, Keith has noticed. But he can’t right now.

“A Galra cruiser,” he says.

His voice stays steady when he says it. There’s no shame, or pain, or apprehension.

Keith’s head swims.

There’s more to this; he knows that much. He knows that later on, in the dark, when he’s trying to sleep, he’ll unpack it. It’ll make sense. But it’s such a shock to his system, and a subliminal part of his mind is telling him he can’t worry about it right now. He’ll deal with it later.

Later, and he’s sure he’ll be jerking off again, because this keeps happening. The mental image of Shiro… in a Galra cruiser… twists in his guts. It’s something dark and terrible and he can’t handle it right now.

A good friend might have questions, or condolences, even jokes. A good friend would know what to say. He thinks if he revealed something like that himself, _Shiro_ would know what to say. But Keith feels so fucking feral, like such a mess, and all that comes out is:

“I wanna touch you.”

Shiro’s face softens, his eyebrows raise. His hand slows, then stops, and he stands upright, straightens his shoulders. Keith wishes he knew how to read his expression, but they’re so out of his fucking wheelhouse right now.

He almost takes it back, ready to say he didn’t mean it, when Shiro steps closer to him, coming into his personal space. It’s only a couple steps across the room but Keith notices the way he’s limping again.

“Okay,” he breathes. He reaches to hold the wall over Keith’s shoulder and shifts his weight, tries to hide the way it makes him wince.

He thinks he likes this, being caged in like this. It makes him sweat. But a bigger part of him takes over, reminds him to be a good friend.

“No,” he manages. He stops touching himself, lets go, takes a deep breath for courage before he reaches to grab Shiro by the hips. “You’re hurt, come over here.” 

Shiro is pliant as Keith steers him back towards the utility box and sits him down. Their armor clatters together and Keith scrambles to climb up next to him, leaning into his left side. His hands feel a little clammy, and it’s a reflex to wipe them on his thighs, but it’s just the slick metal of his leg guards. His breath is shaky for a moment and he tucks one of his legs under the other so that he can turn to face Shiro.

It should feel weird but he fucking wants it.

He isn’t sure where he should look; if he’s supposed to keep his eyes locked on Shiro’s or if he should watch what he’s doing as he reaches between Shiro’s legs. But the moment he feels Shiro’s cock in his hand, thick and warm, Shiro’s eyes go hooded, and his jaw works side to side, and it’s too intense. He makes himself look away.

So he watches, closely.

It’s been weeks of this and he shouldn’t be so surprised by how small Shiro makes him feel. It’s strange, the way it settles in his chest, as he begins to move. He passes through the index of previous partners to assure himself that it’s never been like this before. Shiro shifts beneath him, breathing harder as Keith strokes him, and he accepts it as truth; he’s never _wanted_ to feel small before.

He isn’t touching himself but his dick twitches. He focuses on Shiro instead, tries to touch Shiro the way he’d touch himself right now if he could. He tries to remember how Shiro usually does it, how he likes it, but Shiro moans and Keith thinks he’s doing just fine.

“Keith…” Shiro turns his head so that he says it right by Keith’s ear. It gives him chills, aches between his legs. “Can…”

Shiro’s cock is red and swollen in Keith’s hand, the tip shiny and dark, beginning to leak. Keith gives him a squeeze, touches the precum with his thumb, and has to collect himself before looking back up to Shiro’s face. His eyebrows are creased together and there’s color high on his cheeks.

“What?”

“Can I…?” he doesn’t finish the question but his human hand runs across the top of Keith’s thigh, skirting the armor, squeezes the tender spot where it meets his hip. Keith shudders but doesn’t answer except to nod his head.

Their elbows click against each other as Shiro goes to grab Keith’s cock, and Keith’s own grip goes loose for a moment as he adjusts to the sensation. He has to breathe and try to focus, and he closes his eyes.

This is probably crossing a line, he thinks. He’s been telling himself this the whole time but in the heat of the moment all his self control disappears. He rolls his hips, fucks into Shiro’s hand, and feels Shiro’s cock jump in response. _Fuck_. It’s not that they haven’t crossed lines already, but they just… _keep doing it._ Keep pushing. He wonders when they should stop.

It’s clumsy and their arms keep bumping together. Shiro’s Galra fingers click into the side of the box as he grips it and adjusts his posture, squirming in place.

Even having seen Shiro’s dick already, Keith is surprised by how heavy it feels. He can’t remember being with anyone bigger than this and it sends a weird little thrill down his spine. His eyes open again to watch, because he needs to see for himself again. None of it feels real.

Shiro groans and his head tilts back. Keith watches, looks over the broad shape of his jaw, the graceful lines of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and he’s got the slightest layer of stubble on his skin. Keith doesn’t think he’d even notice if they weren’t so close to each other. He can smell Shiro’s sweat from here, still fresh and mingling with the scent of his shampoo.

They’ve known each other for a long time, and he’s seen Shiro a mess before. They’ve raced in the desert and sparred and spotted each other in the gym. The way he smells is familiar, but it’s never gotten to him like this before, never felt so overtly sexual.

He lets out his own groan and slows down for a moment, distracted.

It’s just the castle getting to him, he thinks. Even hiding in a store room and jerking each other off, he wants to pretend it’s gross that he could be attracted to Shiro. He’s just horny out here.

Shiro looks at him as he picks the speed back up. He gives a weak smile.

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith pants. “Yeah, keep going.”

Shiro doesn’t look away, and the energy is crawling in Keith’s groin, sneaking down through his limbs, to his fingertips, to the bottoms of his feet. He wants to look away because it’s too intense, but… he can’t.

“Shiro…?” his voice is small.

Shiro’s eyebrows raise in question and he jerks Keith harder. Their forearms clatter together and Keith feels like he’s shrinking. Shiro’s eyes are so dark, magnetic and unreadable, and Keith feels stuck there.

_I want to kiss him._

His heart is in his throat, the edges of his vision going a little fuzzy as he watches Shiro’s face. His left hand fidgets at his side and he hooks his fingers into his belt to avoid the urge to grab the back of Shiro’s neck. He wants. _He wants_.

They’re leaning closer together and it’s lighting up in his brain, screaming that it’s a bad idea, but Shiro’s lips are parting and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He’ll worry about the fallout later. His eyes flutter closed and he sees Shiro’s do the same.

This is such a fucking bad idea.

And they’re closing in, almost there, and he can feel the warmth, feel the closeness, when the alarms go off.

It shocks over his body like cold water and he goes stiff. Takes a beat to breathe as if he’d imagined it. But then Shiro’s hand is gone and he’s grabbing Keith by the wrist to pull him away, too. Keith opens his eyes and scoots back on the box, puts space between them.

“Fuck,” Shiro says. He’s pressing his palms against his eyes. “Fuck. _Fuck_.”

Allura’s voice is calm over the PA, telling them to get to the lions, and Shiro is standing, cursing under his breath as he squeezes at the base of his dick with his Galra hand, his left hand on his hip, stiff and impatient. Keith is shaking as he tries to put himself back together, as well, his cock swollen and stubborn. It’s hard to get his pants closed.

“Jesus,” Shiro mutters. He manages to get himself organized and rubs over his face, pinches the bridge of his nose, breathes evenly for a moment before he reaches to put his gloves back on. Keith is still inching away, head swimming when his back hits the wall. He presses against it to keep his distance.

Shiro stands and grabs his helmet. He looks pissed, and Keith knows it isn’t directed at him, but his body physically reacts to the unusual anger as if it is. It helps to kill his hardon, at least.

“Come on,” he says. He’s not looking at Keith as he puts his helmet on, then just stands for a moment, hands on his hips. He tilts his head back, stares at the ceiling, breathes.

Keith feels his nerves thawing out and manages to stand. He shuffles through the small space, tries to find his stuff. His hands are still shaking as he tries to pull his gloves back on and Shiro finally turns to look at him.

“You good?” he asks. That his voice has lost its warmth from earlier, that he’s back in Black Paladin mode, makes Keith feel like he’s being scolded. His face is red and he feels small. Embarrassed.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he mumbles.

* * *

Pidge is on their knees in the middle of the floor, hunched over the datapad with the Galra ship’s schematics. Hunk and Shiro manage to seal the door to buy them all some time, and they take a moment to regroup. Keith hovers over and tries to follow what Pidge is doing, but he can’t keep up with how fast they work.

“Okay,” Pidge says. They tap a few times at one of the rooms on the map, make it larger. “There’s a manual release in this room for the sprinkler system. If we can get in there, we can put out the fire and get the fuck out of here.”

The room shakes around them and Keith almost loses his balance. He takes a knee to be safe, looks closer at the screen. Pidge draws squiggly lines with their fingertips over the hallways that they know are blocked off from the flames. It doesn’t look like there’s another way out.

“We were over there already, though,” Keith says. “The doors are too hot, we can’t get through.”

Pidge taps their fingers against their visor in thought.

The others circle in, kneel as well. Look over the map. Keith is actually impressed by the collective calm, even so far as being impressed by himself. His heart is going wild but he thinks he’s hiding it well.

“How much time do we have?” Shiro asks.

“I’m not sure,” Pidge says. “An hour, at the very most, but I don’t want to push it that far.”

“All right,” Shiro says. His eyes are darting back and forth across the map and Keith can tell he’s coming up with a plan on the spot, on a whim. He seems unsure, but he’s still confident when he speaks. “All right. I can handle the release, and I think I can use my arm to get the door open. If you guys stay in position you can start sweeping the area as soon as the sprinklers go off and it’s safe. That should give us enough time to grab any surviving prisoners and meet back at the air lock.”

The others nod and begin to stand, but Keith just stares. Shiro doesn’t seem to notice.

He reaches for Shiro’s arm before he can lift himself upright. “Don’t take off by yourself.”

Keith thinks he’s done a good job lately of compartmentalizing all the bullshit that’s been going on; usually he prides himself on his ability to focus during missions. But this suspicion sneaks through as their eyes lock and he wonders if everyone knows. If they’re being too obvious.

But obvious about what? He’s not sure. Nothing is going on. It doesn’t mean anything.

He has to shake the paranoia off and focus when Shiro speaks again. His eyes don’t leave Keith’s as he addresses the whole group.

“Okay. You’re right,” he pulls away from Keith’s grip and stands. Keith stands as well. “Keith, you’ll come with me. It’ll be safer. The rest of you, get in position. Pidge, you know where to go?”

Pidge nods and tucks the data pad into their belt.

“All right. Keep us updated on time.”

And then they’re leaving.

Smoke flows into the room the moment the door opens, and Keith knows it isn’t getting in through his flight suit but he can imagine how it smells. It sinks hard in his stomach, makes him sick, as Shiro taps him on the arm and points in the right direction. They don’t speak as they make their way through the hallway, walking in a half-crouch to stay low where it’s a little more visible.

It might be soothing if he weren’t so tense. It’s dark, and quiet, and all he can hear is his own breathing in his helmet. He can make out some of the glowing piping on Shiro’s armor in the dark, but it’s murky. The ship shudders again and he wobbles on his feet, but stays focused on Shiro. Follows, quietly, and tries to stay calm.

“Stay back from the door,” Shiro says to him when they get there, and he does, takes a defensive stance as he watches. Shiro turns away to shield his face and his Galra hand glows as it presses at the door to force it open.

He can feel the heat, even through his suit, and keeps his eyes on Shiro to make sure he’s okay. Shiro’s arm comes up and covers his face, he jumps back from the heat for a moment, but he seems unharmed when the air settles. He looks at Keith but doesn’t speak, just raises his eyebrows in question. Keith nods.

It’s unlikely that anything has survived the heat in here, but they sweep just in case. They stick to Garrison-trained formation; Keith checks the right corners, just like Shiro taught him, as Shiro covers the left. His eyes strain as he squints into the smoke. The visibility sucks but he thinks it looks safe.

His skin feels itchy under the flight suit and he imagines that he can smell the smoke again. He tells himself it’s in his head and counts his breaths to stay calm. 

They lower their weapons but proceed slowly, still crouching to stay near the floor. Deeper into the room he can see the glow of the fire. It’s green and toxic, coloring the underbelly of the smoke.

According to Pidge’s map, the room they’re in now is the antechamber. A few steps forward and they’ll reach a control console, and beyond it will be the room with the release. Shiro leans against the controls for a moment, and Keith thinks he’s trying to hide it but it seems like he’s taking a moment to rest. He’s rolling his shoulders and Keith can see the measured rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. When he goes to move again, the limp is back.

“Stay here, I’ll get the door open again,” he says. Keith’s eyes continue to sweep the room, to watch the door they came through and make sure they’re not being cornered in. He stays behind the console, a safe distance from the inner doors.

Shiro taps at the manual releases for the doors with his Galra hand, testing the give. It glows for a moment as he finds the weak spot, and Keith hears the grunt of effort as he pries it open, and then…

His ears are ringing and it takes a moment for his brain to catch up to the sound of the explosion.

Things move in slow motion and he can feel his mind scrambling to organize all the information. There’s heat and noise, and he’s lifting off his feet, he’s being thrown across the room from the force of it. The fire flashes into his vision just once, and he sees the tendrils of it curling into the room, but then it’s just the smoke. It’s green at first, but as he’s drifting through the air it gets darker, and darker. The temperature drops and when he crashes he’s below the smoke line. His head bounces against the floor, and he might be vaguely aware that his helmet probably just saved his fucking life, but the way brain jostles in his skull is enough that his vision goes white for a moment.

He can see the floor when he opens his eyes, sees the clouds of smoke hovering above his head. There are conflicting commands trying to take over and his limbs go stiff trying to pick one to follow. The floor is shuddering again and the ship is groaning all around him, but he still tries to roll onto his front, tries to push himself off the ground.

 _Shiro_.

The ringing in his ears hasn’t gone down and he’s trying to sort through what happened. An explosion when Shiro opened the door. It threw Keith across the room. But Shiro. Shiro.

In his own mind, his actions are more frantic. He imagines that he’s climbing up, checking the room again, going to Shiro’s side. But his body is sluggish getting to his feet. He wobbles.The pain throbs behind his eye and he thinks he might get sick, but doesn’t think he should open his visor in here. Too smoky. Toxic.

“Shiro?” he asks into his comm. It crackles feedback in his ear and he winces. “Shiro do you copy?”

There’s no answer and all he can hear is his own breathing. He wants to focus on staying measured, staying calm, but hearing it all around his head is making him lose control. Panic is crawling up through his chest and his breathing gets faster.

“Can anyone fucking hear me?” he shouts. There’s another electric shriek of feedback and he reaches to touch the side of his helmet where the mechanism is. It’s dented, right over his jaw, the metal creased and jagged beneath his fingers. He exhales hard through his mouth but hears how shaky it is, even in his own ears. When he tries to inhale again he can feel his lungs seizing, refusing to cooperate.

His heart is pounding hard enough that he feels like his body sways with it. He hears it throbbing, feels it pulsing through every injury on his body. Feels it like an undercurrent to the pain in his head.

He can’t tell if seconds or hours are going by as he staggers back to the console. He holds it for balance, dizzy and confused, and looks for traces of Shiro. This close, he can see the shape of the doorway in the dark, completely black inside the glowing outline of flames. The door is hanging to the side, blasted off its frame.

And where the fuck is Shiro.

It’s brighter as he comes around the console, hotter, and he holds a hand up to shield his eyes. He checks for clues again and feels sick when he sees the dents against the front of the console. It’s crunched in the middle, directly across from the door. Keith wonders if it’s where Shiro landed.

But where the fuck is he.

He looks up at the doorway again, wondering if Shiro went in like they’d planned. His head throbs and his vision wavers. The flames swell and recede in a rhythm, blooming outward and then shrinking back, over and over like they’re breathing. They seem alive, playful, like it’s a challenge. They fill the whole doorway green for a moment and it’s black the next, over and over.

It’s tickling in the back of his throat and his breathing is still erratic. There’s a stray signal of feedback in his ear again and he wishes he could take his helmet off.

The heat is pressing in all around him, even through his suit, but he’s going cold. Can’t feel his fingertips. Legs are shaking so bad that his armor is clicking. But he waits, watches, tries to figure out the timing. He thinks he can make it inside. If he just figures it out.

It’s hard to focus, to count the waves of flame while trying to even his own breaths, to ignore the thundering of his heart in his ears. _Patience_ , he tries to tell himself, but everything hurts.

He wants to blame the head injury. He hasn’t felt fear like this since… since…

Doesn’t want to think about it. He shakes his head to himself, tries to push through. This fear isn’t worth Shiro’s life. He isn’t going to stand here gaping at the fire, completely paralyzed. He’ll get to Shiro. He’ll get to Shiro. _Patience_.

And he’s about to do It, he’s studying the way the fire moves, poising himself to dart through, when the sprinklers go off.

It’s pink foam that gushes from the the ceiling. Flecks of it spray across Keith’s visor and smear everywhere when he tries to wipe it away. The suddenness of it catches him by surprise, almost the way the explosion did, and what little equilibrium he’d gained is thrown off again as he tries to assess what’s happening. Smoke billows up from all the hot spots it puts out, and with the light of the fire going out the room is getting darker. He staggers backwards and hits the console, reaches to grab onto it.

Pain spikes in his head again, trills behind his eye, and he gasps for breath. His vision blurs but he can see the shape of the doorway again. Dark but full of smoke.

His mind clears enough that he thinks he should try his flashlight, and he’s reaching for it when the shadow appears in the frame. Tall and broad and he can make out the turquoise light of the piping.

 _Shiro_.

Somehow it makes the anxiety jolt through him one more time, squeezing hard at his sides, and the flood of adrenaline sends chills all over his body. He tries to speak but can’t breathe. Moves his mouth but remembers his comm is broken anyway. Shiro probably won’t be able to hear him.

But he’s close now. He’s grabbing Keith by the elbow and leading him away. Keith can see that Shiro is saying something, sees the shapes of words on his lips, but he can’t hear anything.

The ship shakes and the lights are flickering in the hallway when they break back out. The pink foam is everywhere, slippery under their feet. It’s colder out here. Shiro breaks into a run and Keith doesn’t even know how he manages to keep up.

* * *

This time, it’s Pidge shaming him into the healing pod. They take his helmet and promise to fix it while they run the body scan over and over. They tell him three times that he has a concussion and needs to sleep it off in here before he gives up and agrees.

Shiro is already in one.

He watches Shiro’s face through the glass, hopes he’s okay in there. In his head.

But Shiro cooperates more than Keith does. He’d helped Pidge cut pieces of his own flight suit away,peeling back the edges where the fabric had burnt into his skin. He’d stepped into the triage room to change into the gray bodysuit and limped back out on his own accord.

Keith doesn’t want to let him down. He thinks maybe he’d like to be here when Shiro wakes up.

He goes to change, as well. The suit is tight and makes him feel suffocated. He lets Pidge push him around, get him in position. They scan him again and fuss with the controls.

“Your vitals are all over the place, dude,” they say.

Keith blushes and crosses his arms over his chest.

“So fix that, too, whatever.”

Pidge rolls their eyes and taps at the control panel. The pod hisses as it slides closed. His stomach ties itself in knots as the gas begins to flow. It’s so sweet, just like last time.

The dreams aren’t as vivid, though. They’re murky, dark, like crawling through smoke. He hears his own breathing but he doesn’t have his helmet for air. Just keeps getting lungfuls of poison. Over and over. He doesn’t remember most of it later, except that he was searching for something that he couldn’t find.

It’s heavy in his chest when he wakes and he feels like he might cry.

Everything is so quiet and cold when he steps out. His teeth chatter and he rubs at his biceps for warmth. His body hadn’t hurt that bad when they got back, but it seems the fogginess in his head has cleared. He takes a moment to stretch and crack his neck before he settles his attention on Shiro.

Still in there, his face placid in the dull pink light. Keith watches from across the room for a moment but finally comes in closer. He chews on his thumbnail.

He’d been surly with Pidge, he knows that. Hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the way he’d fallen the fuck apart on the mission. It had been a joke, and a bad one, to tell them to fix it. But he feels calmer now. There’s still the residual bad vibes of his dream, but he can breathe again. His heartbeat seems normal.

Without meaning to, he touches his fingertips to the side of his head, feeling the ridges and lines of his skull. He traces little circles beneath his hair.

It’s instinct to stay, to wait. Something he should do as a friend, to make sure that Shiro doesn’t wake up alone. Selfishly, it’s also a way to sate this need to know Shiro’s okay.

But he wonders if maybe it’s too much.

He remembers how irritated Shiro had been when they were interrupted for the mission, and the rational part of him wants to hold tight to the idea that it wasn’t his fault, but it grates over his nerves. Maybe he was mad at the situation, maybe it’s understandable that he was frustrated by having his orgasm ruined. Keith had been, too. But guilt creeps through his body at the idea that they shouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place.

 _I should go_.

His cheeks burn and he takes a step back.

Shiro hadn’t even been that hurt. He’s okay. The burns had probably been superficial and he’s probably just being safe. It’ll be awkward if he wakes up and Keith is hovering here, acting all weird and clingy. Shiro will be fine.

Don’t make it weird, Keith.

* * *

He isn’t asleep yet when there’s a knock at his door.

It’s probably obvious that it’s Shiro. He’s not necessarily _surprised_ when he answers _,_ he guesses. Not surprised that the door slides open and Shiro is there, because no one else would come see him this late at night, but maybe surprised that he’s come at all.

Surprised, and then guilty.

Maybe he shouldn’t have left.

But Shiro seems relaxed. He’s in his own clothes now and it looks like he’s showered. When Keith invites him inside, he sees that the limp is gone.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Shiro smiles and tilts his head, like Keith said something funny. “I came here to ask you that.”

“Oh.”

The silence hangs thick between them until Shiro raises his eyebrows and laughs a little.

“Well?” his eyes glint with mirth. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith says. His brain forms all the correct words for him, tells him to ask Shiro if the burns healed, ask how his leg feels, but it comes out all wrong. “I’m sorry about before.”

God, even as he says it, he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for. How ridiculous. He looks away, stuffs his hands in his hoodie pocket.

Shiro spares him by not asking to clarify, but it goes silent again.

This is so stupid.

He looks up at Shiro’s face and hates the concern he sees, like he’s a kid again. Some tangled mess of rage and defenses kick in, flash hot over his skin. It somehow cleanses the awkwardness, kicks his personality back online.

“I’m sorry I freaked out on the mission,” he says, spitting it out like it’s an accusation. “I should’ve…” his voice dries up. “I should’ve…”

Shiro shakes his head and raises his hands in a peace gesture. “Keith, it’s fine, I—”

“Don’t placate me like I’m a kid, okay?” he says, and Shiro’s eyes go wide in surprise. His mouth opens and closes but no words come out.

And Keith can’t take it anymore.

He charges across the room, into Shiro’s space. He drops his head to watch what he’s doing, maybe to avoid Shiro’s gaze, as he grabs at the front of Shiro’s pants. Shiro startles and presses his hands to Keith’s chest.

“No, wait,” he tries to scoot back, out of Keith’s reach, but Keith’s hands are beneath his waistband already, fingertips feeling the warm skin. “Keith. I didn’t come here for that.”

His face is so close to Shiro’s clothes, and he presses in closer to avoid eye contact again. He breathes the smell of his shirt and it goes straight to his cock. It’s oddly soothing. Shiro’s back hits the wall and they crash together.

“You sure?” He hears Shiro’s hitched breath above him as a sign that he’s shocked, speechless. He rubs his cheek against Shiro’s chest. _You almost died_ , he wants to say. _I thought you were dead_. He feels for Shiro’s cock, palms it over his underwear, pleased by the reaction. “Should I stop?”

“Hnngh,” Shiro’s hand comes up to cup the back of Keith’s head. “No. No. It’s okay.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He tugs at Shiro’s pants, watching the way his dick bobs out over the waistband. Half hard and flushing red, and Keith squeezes around it, tests its give. He lets his fingertips dance up the underside, teasing the blood flow, coaxing it through. Shiro shakes beneath him as he eases the foreskin down, presses a thumb to the head. His skin is so hot.

 _Multitasking_ , Shiro had said to tease him, and maybe Keith gets it now. He switches to his left hand, curls loose around the thickness, and uses his right to grab at himself. It’s rushed and blundering, and it takes him a few tries to get his fly open, but he groans in relief when it all comes together. He hadn’t noticed himself getting hard, but he jerks himself a few times and moans quietly against Shiro’s shirt.

“Keith…” Shiro’s voice is breathy, higher than usual, and it breaks something open inside. He’s in that place again. It’s all heat and need and he doesn’t care about lines or boundaries. He pulls back to look into Shiro’s face and can’t believe the words that are falling out of him.

“Can I use my mouth?”

Shiro’s eyes go cloudy for a moment and his dick jumps in Keith’s hand. He swallows hard. “Yeah. Okay. If you want to.”

It’s like his body is moving on its own, lowering him to his knees. Then moving on its own as he leans in, as he strokes Shiro a couple times and brings his mouth down over the head.

The first clear thought in his head is: _So that’s how Shiro tastes._

Not like it’s the first dick he’s had in his mouth, but there are those notes beneath, those parts that make each person unique. And he wants to think it’s funny, wonders if it should be taking him out of the moment, but it doesn’t. He sinks down, squeezes his fist around what doesn’t fit, and _god_. Hard to quantify the way the need is surging inside, more intense than it had been before. He can’t remember ever being this horny.

Using his left hand on Shiro feels awkward, crude. He’s tempted to come up for air and apologize, to tell Shiro it’s the first time he’s done it like this. His mind jumps three steps ahead to imagine Shiro’s response.

 _That’s great, Keith,_ he’d say. _You’re learning. I’m proud of you_.

Jesus.

He shuts his eyes and strokes himself faster, opts to say nothing, moaning around Shiro’s cock instead. Even the sound of his own voice in his ears is so fucking filthy, muffled and wet. He lifts his left hand to make space to go deeper, just for a moment. It’s enough that he leaves Shiro’s shaft slick, making a mess so that he can grip around him again.

He wonders if he shouldn’t make such a mess. Wonders if he’s taking this too far.

But Shiro’s hands go around the back of his head, fingers card through his hair. It’s an affirmation of sorts, Keith supposes. He continues.

The gentle pressure of him there, present but not demanding, has Keith rolling into his own hand. He rises up on his knees a little higher, strung tight by how close he is, and strokes himself faster. His left hand tries to mirror it but it’s so graceless. He keeps hitting himself in the mouth and there’s so much spit. It’s all mess and no technique, but he’s not sure he cares. Maybe he shouldn’t be trying to impress Shiro with this.

Or…

He doesn’t have time to think about it. He’s whimpering around Shiro’s cock as his orgasm hits, and it’s the strongest one he’s felt in a long time. He thinks the cum hits the wall between Shiro’s legs; at least, he hopes so. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to look at Shiro tomorrow, or ever again, if it got on his pants.

“Fuck, Keith,” Shiro mumbles. He sounds remarkably unaffected, but he grips into Keith’s hair with his prosthesis. It hurts just enough to feel good, to blend out the edges of his pleasure. Keith lets go of himself and curls his hand around Shiro’s calf. His muscles are so hard.

There’s a moment tucked in there, after he comes, where he feels soft and nice, at peace, like what they’re doing is okay. It’s safe and calm. It fuels the way he leans in to finish Shiro. Jerks him faster and sucks at his head. He floats here for a moment, unworried, even knowing that he will orbit back to himself shortly. Any second now.

“Keith,” Shiro says again, his voice urgent this time. His hand goes tighter. “Keith. I’m gonna come.”

It feels natural to stay put, to see Shiro through, but Shiro finally pulls him away. He pops off Shiro’s dick with a gasp, and the head leaves a trail of spit across his cheek as Shiro tries to take control. Keith settles back onto his heels to watch. The Galra hand comes down around his shaft and he strokes hard, his head falling back against the wall with a tiny thud. It only takes a few seconds before he’s curling in over himself, and he tries to turn away but he’s a second too late. Maybe he was aiming away, for the floor, but it gets on Keith’s hoodie sleeve.

“Shit,” he says. He’s pulling his pants back up, rubbing at the back of his head. “Shit, Keith. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Keith isn’t sure why he’s apologizing, but he follows Shiro’s gaze to the pearly stain on his arm. He’s still in too much of a haze for it to connect.

“Sorry,” Shiro says again. “I’ll clean it.”

The laughter comes from reflex, miles away where he isn’t feeling it. It’s subdued, sleepy. He shrugs. “It’s fine.”

Shiro says other things that Keith doesn’t hear. He reaches for Keith’s hands, pulls him to his feet. He’s dabbing at the stain with his own sleeve as if that will help. His face is red.

“I guess I’ll go,” he finally says. He hand flops uselessly at his side, some sloppy, nervous gesture towards the door. Keith feels like he’s crashing, barely hears him.

“Okay.”

Shiro’s eyes dart back and forth across Keith’s face for a moment and Keith doesn’t know whatreaction he’s looking for, but he’s too tired to play along, anyway. He just tries to smile, play nice, and sends him off with a little wave. He tries to say goodnight loud enough to be heard.

And it crashes when he’s alone. The door closes and it sucks the life out of the room.

There’s cum all over the floor. He yawns and rubs his eyes.

He should take the hoodie off, cause it’s fucking gross. The wet spot is seeping through, cool against his skin.

Fucking gross. But he wraps it tighter around himself for the warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the twittah!](https://twitter.com/kacyinthecosmos/status/1155978861345067008)


	4. Nobody's Real

_could you predict, could you foresee_  
_artificial by necessity_  
_rockets and robots can save your life_  
_when you don't care about what's real it's all right_  
  


* * *

Keith never gets to have “The Talk.”

He’s too young while his dad is still around, and when he starts puberty the situation is passed from adult to adult, no one really wanting to deal with it. Sometimes his case manager brings the boys to their annual physicals in groups, and they hand out pamphlets at the doctor’s office. All of it seems impersonal and a little creepy.

But Keith was always a smart kid. He reads them. When he has more questions, he goes to the library. He hides in the corner to study the books, tucked away like it’s a secret. His body doesn’t make him feel ashamed, but his curiosity does. Not knowing things makes him feel uncomfortable in a way he doesn’t know how to articulate yet.

It’s difficult to reconcile the feeling of shame with the memories of his dad. His dad wouldn’t have made him feel uncomfortable about it, Keith knows that much. He’d never believed in body shame. But he tries not to think about his dad too much. That’s one of the big life lessons he learns, also one of the first when he’s taken away. Thinking about the past just makes things harder.

His dad’s memory becomes murky. Keith keeps it safe, preserved somewhere where he can find it when he needs to. But he hides it from the surface. When his teachers make him feel weird, and his case workers, and the other kids he lives with, he hides himself, too. He locks up his personality, tucks it somewhere deep where no one can find it. Not even himself, sometimes.

There are times when thinking about his dad makes him feel guilty. It becomes a cycle to bury the bad feelings even deeper, and feel worse and worse every time they come back. But he lies awake and promises himself, _promises himself,_ that one day he’ll confront it. He’ll deal with it and make his dad proud, as soon as it’s safe to.

One night, after lights out, the older boys show him porn. This is back in seventh grade. They keep the volume low so the adults won’t hear and huddle around the tablet screen in the dark. Seeing it is different from how it sounded from the books. It’s gross and messy and fills him with dread.

He doesn’t want to lie to fit in, because he’s never felt the need to, but that the boys turn it into a challenge inflames his competitive instinct. They tease him because he’s never kissed a girl and he makes it a goal to do so before the school year is out.

It happens after school one day, down on one of the trails in the canyon. His memory of the whole thing will always be overpowered by the fact that his lips were chapped and he was nervous that someone would catch them. She’s enthusiastic and experienced and winds up shirtless. And he winds up feeling bad that he ignores her in school after that, but he really doesn’t want to do it again. Her feelings are probably hurt and he tries to bury it like he buries everything else that makes him feel bad.

The boys keep teasing, though. He thinks that kissing her will get them to back off, but it really only buys him a little more time. It turns into them teasing him about jerking off and blowjobs and sex and he’s just so sick of it. Sometimes he stays awake and wishes he could ask his dad about it. He wonders if something is wrong with him, wonders why he lacks the enthusiasm for it that others have. He wonders if he’s too young for all of it, and hates that it makes him feel like he’s a little kid. He wonders if maybe he’s just broken. Missing something.

But it grows. It grows.

It’s the summer before ninth grade when he tries kissing a boy, instead. And maybe he’s not broken after all. Maybe this is the feeling everyone was talking about before.

He’s blonde with freckles and Keith knows him from the skate park. They make out behind the concession stand. The weekend before school starts, he sneaks out at night go to meet him, and they touch each other in the dark. Keith gives him a blowjob, and they kiss goodbye, and when they’re back at school the other boy ignores him.

He hides the feelings away. It hurts too much. For some stupid reason, it makes him miss his dad. He promises himself that he’ll confront it one day when it’s safe.

And then Shiro shows up.

Keith thinks he’s a loser at first. Kind of a dick. No one this nice is for real and recruiters are scumbags. But he steals Shiro’s car and spends the night in juvie, and this time it’s hard to ignore his guilt.

Not guilt about Shiro, of course. He doesn’t give a fuck about Shiro. But he sits up in the little bed all night, his back against the cold wall, and can’t stop thinking about how he’s letting down his dad. He can’t articulate why it makes him so uncomfortable that Shiro gives him another chance, but he thinks it’s the right thing to do. It might be his only shot at fixing his fucking life. Shiro keeps in touch with him while he finishes out the school year, and he actually puts effort into his work so that the Garrison will take him. Shiro is the one who picks him up and drives him over there with his duffle bag of things on his first day.

They don’t get too personal right away. Shiro keeps an eye on him and Keith really does try to stay out of trouble. He slips up and makes mistakes. He gets in fights and Shiro bails him out. It feels like Shiro treats him like a pet sometimes and it makes Keith claustrophobic. But Shiro is patient, and he’s smart, and he sneaks his way inside.

He starts noticing more guys in the Garrison. Thinking about sex more. He has questions about it but the Garrison library doesn’t help. He doesn’t think he’s too ashamed to ask Shiro, per se, but he isn’t ready to get that personal. It occurs to him that he could look at porn, like the boys in the home showed him. It still makes him nervous, seeing how everything works with guys, but it seems more… attainable. At first he watches out of curiosity, mildly fascinated, but after a while he starts to kinda enjoy it.

He’s jerking off to some dumb video about jocks in a locker room one afternoon when his roommate walks in on him, home early because of a canceled class. His memory of it is mostly colored by the blind rage he went into when the guy teased him about it. They get in a fight, the kids across the hall call the COs. His roommate requests a room change and Shiro is the only reason Keith doesn’t get kicked out.

But Shiro wants answers. He’s exhausted, dealing with this shit. He doesn’t try to make Keith feel bad about it, but Keith can read it on his face. He asks what happened and Keith realizes he’s never talked about it before. It squeezes his ribs with anxiety and he can’t look Shiro in the eyes.

“He was teasing me because I like guys,” he says. Shiro is silent for a moment, but winds up inviting Keith over for dinner.

They have to wait a couple weeks because Keith’s weekend leave has been suspended. In the car on the way over that day, Shiro tells him there’s someone he wants Keith to meet, but he’s vague about it. Historically in Keith’s life, meeting new adults has been bad. He tries to hide how nervous he is and chews on his cuticles while he stares out the window.

Shiro lives off base, in an apartment downtown. It’s got high ceilings and huge windows and dorky retro sci-fi posters. It’s on the seventh floor with a view of the park across the street and the desert beyond it. There’s something warm about it that Keith likes immediately. It feels safe to him.

The “someone” turns out to be Shiro’s boyfriend. His name is Adam. Keith has seen him at the Garrison but didn’t put it together before. He’s nice enough, Keith guesses. A little condescending sometimes, but he doesn’t think it’s on purpose.

Later in his life, Keith will look back on that night and know that it unlocked something inside. But while it’s happening, he can’t articulate the emotions it makes him feel, so he ignores them.

He’s seventeen when Shiro leaves for Kerberos. And he tries to behave, he really does. But he feels reckless, and without Shiro there to keep him in check he starts pushing at edges. He loses his virginity to an NCO with a private room. The condom he uses is from a box of all Shiro’s random shit that he left with Keith. Shiro hadn’t mentioned it; Keith thinks he snuck them in there on purpose.

The sex isn’t great and doesn’t last long. They do it a few more times but Keith bails when the guy suggests that they try switching. He can’t articulate why he doesn’t want to. He wishes he could talk to Shiro about it. It’s hard to reconcile the twinge of shame with this paradigm of Shiro’s guidance he’s trying to live up to. He doesn’t think he feels ashamed to bottom, really. It isn’t that. But he doesn’t like the idea of giving up control. He can’t articulate the weird dark emotion it makes him feel.

He learns his own rhythm, though. Gets better at it. Hits on the junior officers who are too stubborn to ask him how he got his sim scores. He’s aggressive in bed and he thinks it sates his need to pick fights.

Adam tries to check on him from time to time. Keith kinda blows him off. The night he leaves the Garrison, Adam follows him down the desert road for a half mile, begging him to get in the car.

“Keith, come on. Shiro wouldn’t have wanted you to act like this,” he says, and Keith fucking snaps.

“Since when did you give a fuck what Shiro wanted?”

For what it’s worth, Adam doesn’t give up. He looks like he’s gonna fucking cry but he tries a couple more times, until Keith tells him to fuck himself and stalks off the road, into the dark. He sits on the ground for a little while with his duffle bag, until he’s sure Adam’s gone, wondering how long before he gets bitten by a snake.

There’s this feeling in the months after, and he’s probably old enough to articulate it now, but he doesn’t want to. He’s become all hard edges and rage, and he ruins all the progress he and Shiro had made on his anger management. Now, when he’s awake and guilty, he feels like he’s letting Shiro down, too, and he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to fucking live with himself.

He goes to seedy bars that don’t card. He takes guys home. He gets in fights. One night he fights the wrong people, and gets jumped when he’s walking home a week later. It’s four-on-one and he can’t keep up. He finds different bars after that.

When he’s older and it’s finally safe, when he confronts all this stuff, he’ll understand that his early experiences were inextricably mixed together with memories of violence. That his early memories of horniness were knotted together with his inability to contain his fucking temper. He’ll understand why he acted the way he did in bed, and why his subconscious kept insisting that submitting would be like how it felt when those four guys held him down and beat on his face. He’ll get it and he’ll forgive himself for being so confused and immature.

But at seventeen with an NCO and eighteen on Iverson’s desk and nineteen with some grad student from the bar, all he knows is that he doesn’t want to give up control.

So he’s surprised in the castle, on the training deck, pinned beneath Shiro’s heavy body, when his libido starts feeling open to it.

The idea comes and goes in a way that feels casual for how life-changing it is. He takes a second to catch his breath before he flips them, finally getting the hang of the reversal that Shiro has been trying to teach him.

“I yield,” Shiro says, and taps out against Keith’s thigh. Keith hesitates for a moment as he catches his breath before he rolls over to the side. They lie there, shoulder to shoulder, and stare at the ceiling. He can still feel the phantom of Shiro’s weight crushing him to the floor and there’s probably a welt forming on his shin where Shiro blocked a kick with his Galra arm. He stretches, then curls in, brings his knees up to his chest, feels out the bruise on his leg. Pressing against it flares heat in his body. It’s nice.

Weirdly enough, he’s feeling very calm. When Shiro had suggested they put in some mat time he almost balked, not sure if it would be too awkward. But he’s finding it cathartic, relaxing even, working up a sweat and beating the shit out of each other. It almost makes him feel stupid that they’ve been fooling around instead; maybe this could’ve saved him the drama.

Shiro stretches on the floor and cracks his neck before he gets to his feet and grabs their waters from the side of the room. Keith sits up and watches him, notices things about him that he never cared about before.

His adrenaline is flowing nicely, warm and manageable, and there’s just enough pain to make him feel weighted to his own body. So he’s feeling open and serene inside as he decides he likes the way Shiro’s sweatpants cling to the meaty parts of his thighs. He likes how the damp spot on Shiro’s shirt sticks to the small of his back.

Shiro is smiling when he turns back around and hands Keith a water. Keith stretches out his hamstrings as he sips and Shiro looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“What?” Keith asks. He wonders if he imagines the pink that rises onto Shiro’s face. Maybe it’s just the exertion from grappling.

“Can you do me a favor?” He rubs the back of his neck as he asks. Keith nods. “Do you think you could step on my back for me?”

Keith blinks.

“Y’know, to crack it.”

For a moment he isn’t sure if Shiro is serious and isn’t sure how to respond. But Shiro takes a long draught of water and has a stupid grin when he’s done. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and Keith hears how it drags on his stubble.

This guy is too ridiculous for words

“I mean. Sure. Get down,” he stands and takes Shiro’s water, puts both pouches back where they were as Shiro goes down to the mat. He lies on his stomach, turns his head to the side. It feels kind of silly but maybe it’ll heal some of the anxiety he’s been feeling lately, restore some normalcy to their friendship. He remembers doing this in Shiro’s apartment. All three of them, taking turns. When it was Keith’s turn he would always tease Shiro for being too heavy, and Adam would do him instead.

It’s weird how familiar it feels. Shiro grunts and laughs beneath him as he steps up, and he inches back and forth in baby steps, side to side. He leans softly into the space between Shiro’s shoulder blades and Shiro moans in pleasure as it all cracks.

“I wonder if we shouldn’t be doing this out here,” Keith muses. Shiro takes a deep breath as Keith gets one more spot to crunch and then hops off. “Like, what if I injured you?”

Shiro shrugs as he rolls over and sits up. “Eh. We have the healing pods. I’m sure it’s fine. I trust you.”

He wipes his hands on his pants and pops back up to his feet. Stretches his arms into the air, twists his hips side to side. “One more round?”

“Sure.”

They get into position, square up. They’ve agreed not to go for each other’s faces and it starts with each of them trying to get hits to the other’s ribs. Keith feels remarkably clear headed. He listens to the cadence of their breathing, the sounds of each other’s strikes landing, their feet on the mat, and the rhythm feels so… natural. He can’t recall the last time he was able to maintain this level of focus without forgetting about everything else around him. He strikes at Shiro, then blocks him, dodges, but he finds that he’s still very much present in the moment. He knows they’re in space, in the castle, he knows they’ve been fucking around. He remembers what Shiro tastes like. But it’s not split into different parts of his brain like it usually is. It’s a rare moment where he feels whole.

Maybe that’s why he thinks he’s ready to admit that Shiro is hot. It doesn’t feel like the desperate, horny bullshit they keep falling into. It isn’t the heat of the moment. It just is. For once, it feels genuine.

He likes the shape of Shiro’s shoulders and the way his shirt keeps riding up and showing off his hips. He likes the way Shiro grunts when he gets hit and the sheen of sweat on his neck. He likes how Shiro smells. Fighting him is exhilarating, and challenging, and Keith wants to give it his allbut he keeps thinking he also wants Shiro to completely annihilate him.

He thinks he wants Shiro to _fuck him_.

They come in towards each other, lock up on each other’s biceps. Keith’s hand slips, too sweaty on the prosthesis, and the lapse in control gives Shiro the opening to tackle him to the floor. And Keith still feels relaxed, in touch with himself, and maybe that’s why he doesn’t freak out when he hits the ground and realizes how fucking hard he is. Shiro settles on top of him and tilts his head with a condescending little smirk when he feels it for himself, but Keith isn’t even ashamed about it.

Shiro is heavy. He sits back, leans directly into Keith’s hardon, traps him there, and Keith can’t believe he never wanted this before.

He plants his feet on the floor and raises his hips, grinds himself up into Shiro’s body, curious for a reaction, but he can’t quite read the look on Shiro’s face. His eyes are on Keith’s but he seems distant, like he’s staring right through. Keith would interpret it as a rejection if Shiro wasn’t reaching down with both hands, petting slowly up Keith’s waist. He’s still staring past Keith somehow but he looks hungry.

Keith reaches for the hem of Shiro’s shirt and slips his fingertips beneath. He copies Shiro’s motions, lets his hands graze up to Shiro’s ribs. His skin is warm and damp and Keith can feel the bumps of his scars, but he’s calm enough that it doesn’t upset him this time. Shiro hisses when Keith thumbs over one of his nipples.

It makes him change his mind. About the _beating the shit out of each other_ thing. Maybe that it isn’t an alternative to fooling around, but a supplement. They’ve avoided brushes with death today but he wants it. He’s calm enough to look it in the face for what it is.

The focus comes back into Shiro’s eyes and he rolls himself down over Keith’s cock. The way he moves his hips is so… practiced. It makes Keith’s head spin a little bit. He plants his hand on Keith’s abs, rolling fluid and graceful, his thighs flexing as he does it.

Some rational part of him knows that they’re not going to take it much further in here; not right out in the middle of the room, in the middle of the day, but neither of them are making any moves to leave. He sees the gentle swell at the front of Shiro’s pants and the pressure against his own cock is warming up from tentative horny grinding into genuine pleasure. If they don’t get up soon he doesn’t think they’ll be able to stop.

But then the door hisses open, right as Shiro is pushing Keith’s shirt up, and this is, obviously, why he knew this was a bad choice in location.

And of course, of all their little family, it has to be Lance.

“Hey, Shiro, there you are,” he says. He sounds almost winded as he comes in and hovers near the edges of the mat.

Keith immediately freezes and draws his hands back, but Shiro moves slowly, unbothered. He stops grinding but he sits up straight so that all of his weight presses into Keith’s groin. Keith’s face is burning as Shiro tugs at the hem of his shirt to put it back in place. His eyes don’t leave Keith’s until he smooths the fabric down and gives him a couple pats on the hip. Then he turns his head to look at Lance.

Lance’s eyes are narrowed with suspicion but he manages to stay on topic.

“Allura wants you on the bridge,” he says.

Keith can read Shiro’s face as mildly-annoyed-but-being-polite and doesn’t think Lance knows him well enough to see it.

“She couldn’t have paged us?” he asks.

Lance looks from Shiro to Keith and back. Keith respects that Lance is generally brainless but he’s smart enough to keep his opinion to himself as the whole situation begins to dawn on him. His face is turning a little red, too.

“System is down. Coran’s running tests,” he says quietly.

Shiro chuckles softly but his voice is deep enough that it reverberates through his body. Keith feels it and his dick twitches in interest, even with the audience in the room.

Aaaand the weirdness is back.

He looks up at the ceiling and tries to will his hardon away, and the embarrassment helps. How awesome, that he keeps outing himself as a complete freak.

Shiro glances back down at him and gives him a look, one that Lance won’t be able to see, but that Keith isn’t completely sure how to interpret.

“To be continued, huh?” he says with a wink.

Keith moves to sit up the moment Shiro’s off of him, hoping to position himself in a way thatdisguises his fading erection. Shiro grabs his water and claps Lance on the shoulder on the way out, without another word.

Lance stays behind. Keith’s skin begins to bristle with irritation just from his presence.

The good thing is that it kills his hardon enough that he can stand and get his own water. He sips at it from the side of the room, watching Lance the whole time. Lance’s silence is uncharacteristic, to say the least, but Keith doesn’t want to take the bait. He squeezes at the water packet, squirts the last of it into his mouth.

“Nice seein’ ya, Lance,” he says, staying casual, and moves to leave the room.

But Lance cracks. He throws his arms up in the air and shuffles to the side to block the exit.

“That’s _it_?” he squawks. Oh boy. Keith looks up the ceiling and prepares for the typical pitch in stress-octave that Lance always goes through. “SERIOUSLY?”

“What?”

“This is—you— _what_?” he puts his fingertips up to his forehead. “What did I just walk in on?!”

Keith rubs at his temples and doesn’t dignify him with a response.

“ _Keith_ are you into guys?”

His hand twitches at his side and he remembers how it felt when he cracked his roommate in the jaw that time. His heart kicks in his chest and he closes his eyes to take a deep breath.

_Patience yields focus._

“Yeah,” he says when he opens his eyes. “I’m into guys. Is that a fucking problem?”

Lance gapes like a fucking fish. His hands flail in the air like he’s trying to speak but nothing comes out right away. It takes him a minute to get a hold of himself.

“Well, obviously it’s not a _problem,_ but, but—what the fuck, man! You and SHIRO?”

Keith tries to leave the room again but Lance gets in the way. He puts his hands on his hips and grits his teeth, breathes through his nose to keep a hold over his temper. “What _about_ me and Shiro?”

“Do you even _see yourself_ right now?!” Lance’s voice is ebbing into hysterical territory. “Oh my god the way you LOOK at him, I can’t believe—”

He finally reaches out, splays his hand across Lance’s chest to move him out of the way. He tries to keep his voice calm. “I don’t have time for this, Lance.”

There’s more sputtering as he pushes through, as he steps out into the hall. At least Lance doesn’t try to follow him. The air in the hallway is cooler and he’s shivering by the time he gets back to his cabin.

For a moment he leans against the closed door and lets all of it loop in his head. There’s a memory that, maybe twenty minutes ago, he’d felt clear and confident and _okay_ and he mourns it, doesn’t know how to find it again.

 _What_ about _me and Shiro?_

Great question.

* * *

He avoids Shiro for the rest of the day and Lance’s bullshit rattles around in his head as he sprawls out on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He’s antsy, full of nervous energy, but doesn’t want to leave his room. Not worth it if he’s gonna run into anyone. It’s been enough human contact for one day.

There’s too much to think about. His mind cycles through all of it, over and over. Round and round. When he closes his eyes he sees that stupid wink Shiro gave him. And…

Fuck, he’s hard again.

He gets out of bed to pace the room. Considers jerking off. Drops to the floor to do push-ups instead.

Maybe they should talk.

Keith is mature enough to admit that he’s lying to himself by pretending that it doesn’t matter, that it’s nothing. Maybe they’ve behaved accordingly so far, but it’s going to get weird soon. He knows it will. Especially, _especially_ , if Lance can figure it out. He thinks they should at least get their story straight, become a united front in case Lance or anyone else decides to ask questions. Get their shit together.

Sure, whatever.

He stands and paces some more, trying to calm himself down enough to go do it. He closes his eyes and sees the way Shiro’s muscles flexed when he stretched. A thick, pink scar had peeked out from beneath his shirt, winding gracefully around his hip. Damp spots on his clothes clung to all the right places.

Fuck.

His dick strains in his pants and he curses under his breath. For a moment he debates with himself, wonders if he’s making stupid excuses if he puts off leaving for a few minutes to take care of his erection. He doesn’t think it counts as procrastination if it helps his case. Maybe he’ll be able to clear his head; maybe he’ll be more relaxed.

It doesn’t take long. He lies back down, dims the lights. He thinks about Shiro during it. Lately he’s been thinking about Shiro when he does this. He tries to make excuses, or make it abstract. He wants to pretend that he could be jerking off about anybody, but he knows the memories are too closely infused. This time, it’s hard to be anything but literal. He thinks about how it knocked the wind out of him when Shiro threw him to the ground. He thinks about how Shiro had winced when Keith got in a shot to his ribs.

He comes with a quiet little gasp and scrambles off his bed for something to clean it with. Puts himself back together. Heads out.

Shiro is in the common room, playing a board game with everyone. They all invite him to join and he freezes up trying to decline. Shiro watches him from the couch, seeing right through his bullshit as he pretends he’s gonna go get food. He scurries away, in the direction of the mess room, but lingers in the hallway, not sure what he should do.

He genuinely doesn’t expect Shiro to follow him so quickly, but the door slides open before he’s made up his mind.

“Hey. Are you okay?” Shiro asks. The door closes behind him and he comes forward, touches Keith’s shoulder.

Keith flinches. “You’re being too obvious.”

Shiro tilts his head. “Obvious about what?”

God, he’s infuriating. Keith can’t tell if he’s being deliberately obtuse, or coy, or if he actually means it. Maybe Shiro is just trying to get Keith to say it first. Maybe he will.

But he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say, anyway.

“You couldn’t have waited a few minutes to come after me?”

Shiro gives him a half grin like he’s trying not to laugh. “Well, Hunk was about to come check on you instead. Unless you’d have preferred that. But I had a feeling you’re weren’t actually coming out for food.”

Ugh. Keith feels betrayed by his own brain over the way it makes him laugh. “Fuck you.”

It was probably a good idea that he jerked off. He thinks it’s keeping his temper in check. It’s also keeping him from falling the fuck apart when Shiro raises an eyebrow at him. He scratches the back of his neck and wilts beneath Shiro’s gaze, caged in by the silence. He thinks he wants to start the conversation, like he came out to do, and he doesn’t think he’s lost his nerve but he just… doesn’t know how to.

“Seriously,” Shiro finally says, cutting him a break. “Is everything okay?”

He doesn’t like the feeling that’s bubbling in his chest. He’s never liked feeling like this, for his whole life. He avoids feeling like this. But he manages to stay calm, ride it out. He even manages to look Shiro in the eyes when he speaks.

“Can we talk?”

Shiro’s always been able to handle Keith properly in a way that no one else could. Keith can’t stand being pitied, and he hates being treated like a kid, and he can always tell when people think he’s broken. People approach him like he’s a wounded animal, and he knows sometimes he fucking acts like one. But Shiro manages it right, juggles it correctly. It’s the perfect amount of concern, just enough that Keith knows he cares, without the suffocating condescension.

So his face goes neutral, and he nods, and he gestures down the hallway towards their rooms without comment. It helps Keith keep his defenses down and stay in the moment, and they take the walk in silence. He hangs back while Shiro opens the door.

At least he’s not being obtuse anymore. He goes to sit down at the desk in the corner and pulls a flask out of the drawer. He takes a small sip and then hands it out to Keith. Jesus.

Not again.

“This shit is so gross,” Keith mumbles as he reaches for it. Disgusting, but the shot for courage won’t hurt. He slugs it and winces. Shiro watches him carefully, then reaches for the flask again. He doesn’t drink any more of it, though, just slips it back into the drawer.

“So,” he says. He leans back in his chair. Keith goes to sit at the edge of Shiro’s bed and wonders how difficult this is going to be. He rolls the words over in his head, tries to figure out how to begin. His hands fidget in his lap.

This is awkward.

He’s almost got it when Shiro puts him out of his misery and starts.

“I guess this is about…” he pauses, and secretly Keith is relieved that Shiro is just as uncomfortable, as lost for words. He clears his throat and starts over. “I guess this is about what we’ve been doing.”

Keith nods.

Maybe this is a stupid idea. Maybe it’s easier to just ignore it, keep acting on instinct, on the heat of the moment. He tries to replay Lance’s hysterical, annoying voice to remind himself that they’re on a clock here. _Do you even_ see yourself _right now?!_

He looks up at Shiro and winds up blurting it out. “I came out to Lance.”

Silence falls between them for a second, and he only did a shot but he feels it bloom warmth up through his chest. Shiro’s face twitches for a moment, like he’s trying not to smile, but then he bursts into laughter.

“Don’t laugh,” Keith says, but he’s laughing, too.

“How did it go?”

“Ugh,” Keith kicks his shoes off so that he can pull his feet up onto the bed. He crosses his legs and leans his elbows on his knees. “I mean, as expected. But. I think he knows about us.”

Thank god Shiro doesn’t pretend to be coy this time. Doesn’t make Keith clarify. But his laughter fades and he nods, almost solemnly. His eyes go distant but then he smiles again.

“Pidge knows.”

Well, shit.

But, to be fair, Keith isn’t surprised that Pidge would figure it out. They would be the first person to figure it out, Keith suspects.

Still, it begs more questions. Keith’s cheeks burn a little bit. “Well. What do they know? What did you tell them?”

His heartbeat kicks up as Shiro answers.

“Well, they said they noticed we kept disappearing after missions. And I wasn’t gonna lie.”

Keith swallows. “Right, but…”

“I told them we were just fooling around. That it wouldn’t compromise the team.” Keith spaces out for a second, stares at the floor. Shiro taps his metal fingers into the arm of his chair. “What did you tell Lance?”

“Nothing, really. But he saw us today. He kinda got in my face about it but I blew him off.”

“Okay.”

He looks back up at Shiro’s face, reminds himself to be an adult. No drama. “Look, it’s whatever. But if they’re gonna start noticing I just think we should be on the same page and telling everyone the same thing.”

Shiro nods. “That’s smart.”

 _Smart_. Keith looks down at the floor and rolls his eyes. Of course Shiro would use something like that as an excuse to throw in a compliment.

“It... is just fooling around, right?” Keith asks. His face feels warm and he chews his cuticle. God, he knows they need to talk about this, he knows they’re doing the right thing here, _being adults_ , but he doesn’t like the feeling that snakes up through his insides as they do it.

“I assumed you didn’t want to make it weird.”

Keith glances at Shiro but looks away again. “I mean. Yeah. I don’t.”

“Do you feel like it’s weird?”

Maybe. His throat feels dry. “Sometimes.”

He peeks at Shiro for a reaction. He’s kinda staring at the floor, too. Pensive. He leans back in his chair, lets it rock back and forth a few times.

“I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says after a pause. “We can stop if you want.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Keith mumbles. He peeks again, and Shiro is looking at him this time, but he looks away just as quickly to avoid him. “I… really like it.”

“Me too.”

“I really like it,” he repeats, more confidently.

“Do you want… more?”

Fuck, he wonders if they should be drinking more. He’s bleeding where he ripped his cuticle too short but he keeps picking at it anyway. He’s not sure what to say and not sure he even knows the answer.

After a beat of silence Shiro goes in the drawer again, as if reading Keith’s mind. Keith hears him pull the flask out but doesn’t watch, listens to him snap off the lid and hears the slug of liquid as he sips it. He caps it again and tosses it over to the bed, so that it lands next to Keith’s leg.

He laughs a little. That much feels good, he guesses. It helps him relax as he takes a shot. He closes the flask and doesn’t plan to drink more, but he turns it over and over in his hands to keep himself from fidgeting too much.

“I mean.” _I want him to fuck me_. “I wanna… _do_ more. I think?”

Shiro leans forward in his chair to laugh and covers his face with his hands. “You _think_?”

The drink burns in the back of his throat and his skin prickles. “Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not,” Shiro says. He takes a breath to calm down and looks over to Keith, watches patiently. “Just… yeah. I mean. I would do more. If you wanted to.”

“I just don’t want to fuck anything up. Like, with the team. I don’t want anything to get complicated.”

Shiro nods. He swallows, chews his lip in thought. “Yeah. Right. That’s smart.”

For some reason it sends frantic nervous energy through his guts. His heart is getting louder in his ears. He taps his fingernails into the flask. The booze is helping, though. Taking the edge off enough that he thinks he can be honest. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Shiro shakes his head and his brow creases. “Yeah, of course.”

“I’m just. I don’t know.” Keith is having a hard time with Shiro’s expression, not entirely sure what it means. And he’s having a hard time with words, too, not sure what the fuck he’s trying to say. He takes a minute to breathe and rolls his shoulders, tries to feel the booze loosening his body. The whole point was to drink for courage and he thinks if he can be patient and try to focus that the straight honesty will bubble to the surface.

He licks his lips and waits for it. His blood is pumping hard and fast and the effects should be spreading, spreading. He tries to pay attention to his body, home in on the lightness taking over in his head. Deep breath and a count a three and:

“Can I tell you something?”

He’s not sure where the question came from but he thinks it’s the right choice. The right direction to take the conversation in. He isn’t even nervous as he waits for Shiro to answer.

Shiro doesn’t answer with words, but raises an eyebrow to tell Keith to continue.

“I think I wanna have sex with you.”

The desk chair creaks as Shiro freezes.

“Um,” he presses his fist to his mouth for a moment as he thinks, and his words are muffled when he speaks. “Okay. That’s fine. We can do that.”

“I just… think… that, you know,” Keith sighs and tosses the flask to the side. It thuds against the wall and lands in the pillows somewhere. God. “Maybe it’s just me, okay. But I get kinda. Lost? In the heat of the moment?”

Shiro nods.

“And so maybe, I guess, I wanted to see if that was okay. When we’re not, y’know. In it.”

“That’s a good idea,” Shiro says. “You’re right. Maybe we should talk about it first.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Keith’s fingers twitch and he almost reaches for the drink again, but tries to stay in the moment. He can do this.

“Can I tell you something else?” he asks. His face is burning over all of it; the booze and what he’s about to say and the awkward way he’s saying it. What a mess. It’s amazing that Shiro even hangs out with him.

“What?”

His voice is quiet, barely scratching out of his throat. “I’ve never bottomed.”

Shiro’s eyebrows shoot up. He seems genuinely surprised, but that savior-softness immediately washes over his face. He holds his hands out to gesture that it’s okay.

“Oh, Keith, I mean…” he scratches his jaw. “I’m, you know. I’m… versatile, it’s fine.”

 _Fuck_.

It takes a valiant amount of effort for Keith to stay focused on what he was trying to say, momentarily distracted by the mental image. It snaps him back to the training deck earlier, how Shiro had ridden him over his pants. Jesus. He pushes his hair out of his eyes and uses his shirt sleeve to dab at the sweat that’s pulsing over his skin.

“Uh. Yeah. That’s cool. But, I mean. That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I mean, I want you to fuck me?”

“Oh.”

“Can I…” he stops himself from finishing the question. Shakes his head to himself. Starts over. “I’ve actually never been… penetrated. At all.” He looks down at his lap. “Like, with anything.”

“Ever?”

“Yeah, no,” he says. So far, Shiro’s response is making it easy. Some of the pressure uncoils and the safety of it keeps him anchored where he is. It’s familiar, like it’s always been. Shiro’s always been like this. He almost feels stupid for being so nervous. “But I was thinking, I kinda. I want you to. If you want to.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. His voice is gravelly and Keith’s cock enjoys it. “I do want to.”

He’s not sure he likes the emotion that’s beginning to cloud his mind. It’s the one he avoids the most, but Shiro’s presence here is holding him in place, keeping him from hiding. The jittery energy makes him chuckle a little and he looks into Shiro’s eyes.

“I’m nervous about it. Is that stupid?”

“No,” Shiro says. He doesn’t miss a beat. It doesn’t even sound like he’s being condescending; he sounds so even and sure. Keith’s heart squeezes with pain for a moment, remembering how badly he’d missed Shiro back on Earth. How he’d grieved the loss of this conversation, this guidance.

There’s this weird temptation, out of nowhere, to tell Shiro everything. To fill him in on everything he missed when he went to Kerberos. He’s so used to keeping everything inside that he tends to forget how good it feels to get stuff off his chest. But even this little bit has him feeling so loose, so weightless. He wants to say more.

Maybe it’s just the booze. He holds his tongue, just in case.

But then Shiro speaks, before Keith gets the chance to do anything stupid.

“You should touch yourself,” he says. It’s gentle, a suggestion and not a command. Genuine advice, the kind Keith could’ve used back at the Garrison. “That way you sort of know what to expect.”

“Right…”

Shiro’s Galra hand comes up to his mouth as he thinks and he taps the fingers against his teeth. “Do you have lube?”

“Um, no?” The fuck was he supposed to get lube in space?

“Okay,” Shiro nods and goes back into his desk drawer. Where the fuck did he get lube in space? He tosses it across the room and Keith catches it with a little slap to his palm. The writing on it is in Altean, what the fuck. “Use this one.”

He can feel he sweat sneaking out on his scalp, tickling around his hairline. “Uh? Like right now?”

Shiro sputters out a laugh and his cheeks blush a deep pink beneath his scar. “ _No_ , I mean. When you’re ready to.” They watch each other for a moment, almost suspiciously. Then Shiro swallows. “I mean. You could do it now if you want to.”

God, he does. There’s blood rushing into his cock as he rolls the bottle back and forth in his hand. “I wanna stay here.”

It’s instinct for him to feel uncomfortable, an old pattern. For a moment he almost kicks himself for being so blunt, for allowing himself to want this thing. But he feels weirdly safe. They’ve talked, it doesn’t have to be weird. Doesn’t have to be complicated. He’s allowed to want it.

Still, he doesn’t act on it right away. Not sure how to. He clicks the top of the lube open and closed a couple times just to keep his hands busy, and then Shiro finally takes pity on him.

“Why don’t you take off your pants?” he asks.

Keith doesn’t answer, but he nods. He wobbles to his feet and tries not to look at Shiro as he undoes his buttons, then shuffles out of the pant legs. His dick is half hard and it’s a little chilly in the room and when he stands up straight he feels like he’s on display.

It’s that feeling again that’s come and gone for his whole life. He remembers not wanting to ask questions about sex when he was a kid and not wanting to give up control. Not wanting to accept Shiro’s help and not wanting to think about his dad. Remembers feeling like this.

But he’s old enough now. With Shiro here, with him, with that patient, warm look on his face, he isn’t afraid to articulate it.

It pulses in his mind, over and over, like a blinking neon sign, and he knows the feeling is that he’s _vulnerable_.

He hates that fucking word. Feels stupid admitting to himself that it’s something he’s capable of feeling. But maybe here and now the feeling isn’t that bad. Not like it used to be. He feels vulnerable but knows he’s safe here, knows Shiro can catch him.

It’s not like there’s rules in place, not like he needs to wait for permission, but for some reason he think he shouldn't act on it until Shiro tells him to. Or, maybe he’s just giving over completely. Maybe he wants Shiro to tell him what to do, or how to do it. He stands there, pantsless, and gives his dick a few tentative strokes out of habit. Shiro waits until Keith is completely hard.

“Lie down,” he says. “Try… putting your foot up on the edge of the bed.”

Keith does. His heart pounds like crazy as he settles back, one leg dangling over the edge of the bed, foot planted flat on the floor, the other propped up on the bed frame. It doesn’t occur to him until he’s in position that it’s going to give Shiro a perfect view of his asshole. Jesus. He wants to be embarrassed but his dick throbs at the thought.

It’s not that he’s never done this to his partners. He gets the mechanics of all of it. He leans up on his elbows while he pours the lube out into his hand, then drops down, flat on his back, so that he can watch the ceiling and pretend Shiro isn’t staring at him. He reaches beneath the leg that’s propped up, arches his back to adjust his position. Focuses hard on the lines in the ceiling as he touches his middle finger to his hole.

Shiro’s chair creaks but Keith doesn’t look. The adrenaline that floods through his body stokes the arousal. He spreads his legs apart a little further and begins to run his finger around in a circle, feeling out the texture of his skin, spreading the lube. He has no idea where Shiro got it from but it’s self-warming and makes his skin tingle.

Knowing Shiro, he’s gonna sit there and wait, all patient and perfect, and he’s gonna let Keith take his time. But he sort of wants the instructions, even if he can figure it out himself. He kinda likes it. If he’s gonna give up control he thinks he should go all the way.

He clears this throat and shifts his hips, tries to relax. His fingertip presses to the indent of his hole without entering.

“Will you tell me what to do?”

At the last second there’s a voice telling him that he’s being stupid, that it’s weird, but they’ve crossed some line into the moment again. He didn’t even have to risk his life for it this time.

“Try it,” Shiro says softly. “Just one finger. Go slow.”

Breathe out. “Okay.”

He uses his middle finger and stops after his first knuckle, adjusting to it. He presses along the edges, checks how the stretch feels. And it’s… weird. But he presses in deeper, until the angle is uncomfortable on his wrist.

“How is it?” Shiro asks.

“Weird. I don’t know.”

Shiro laughs under his breath and Keith can hear the chair again, like he’s shifting. “I know. Keep going, though.”

He moves in and out a few times, takes note of the sensation of the drag. The friction of his skin beneath the glide of the warm lube. Everything feels soft inside. And he does understand the mechanics; in theory, he knows the goal here is to hit his prostate, but he isn’t feeling it. He curls his finger and feels the sensation of the stretch more than anything else. All it does it make his wrist ache.

“Do you think you’re ready to add another finger?” Shiro asks.

His voice sends chills down Keith’s entire body, head to toe, and reminds him that Shiro is _watching_. He can see everything. It’s so fucking embarrassing and hot and Keith doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel. It’s so _weird_.

But he tries. He pulls out most of the way and feels around his rim with his index finger. It takes a deep breath to relax more but his rim has more give than it did before. When the second finger sinks in it refreshes the flash of sensation, stretches again, and he lets out a little grunt without meaning to.

Shiro shifts again and as Keith is pushing both fingers in, deeper, he hears Shiro’s zipper.

Fuck. Fuck.

He’s been focusing so hard that his hardon flagged a bit, but hearing Shiro move in his seat, knowing he’s pulling his dick out, brings him right back. His cock pulses against his belly and he squirms in place.

“Can you reach your prostate?” Shiro asks. It’s quiet but Keith hears the rhythm of Shiro’s arm buzzing. He must be stroking himself. Keith goes to do the same but he feels clumsy with his left hand; he settles for massaging at the base of his dick at first, then thumbing a circle around his head.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” Shiro says. He says it like it’s a lesson he’s trying to teach, like he’s trying to motivate a student. “It doesn’t always work the first time. You might not be able to reach.”

His face is burning. It’s some weird perversion of what he’d have wanted back in the day. He hadn’t been bold enough to ask Shiro about sex stuff back then but knows Shiro would’ve answered him with all he wholesome helpful advice of a big brother. He’d have never crossed a boundary like this. But picturing it makes Keith shudder; the hotwrong of it pours gasoline on his nerves.

The buzzing of Shiro’s arm gets faster and Keith wonders if he’s thinking the same thing. He arches up and hopes he’s being subtle as he tries to make himself more visible.

“That’s it,” Shiro says. His voice is deeper. “Keep going.”

He’s still not feeling his prostate and knows there’s something he’s still missing, but the situation itself is turning him on enough that it doesn’t matter. He focuses on the stretch, the slight burn, and moves his fingers faster. When he pinches at a particularly sensitive spot on his cock, he shuts his eyes and turns his head to the side, inhales against Shiro’s blankets. And _fuck_. God, the smell of him there. Keith whines.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Shiro mumbles. “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

Keith whimpers. He inhales against the bed again and can practically feel it coursing through his body. “Please, Shiro.”

“Not now,” he says. He grunts and the chair groans under his weight. Keith hears the sound of him jerking off, not just the noise from his arm, but he can hear sounds of his flesh, as well. “Wanna make sure you’re ready. Not today.”

“I’m ready,” Keith says. He doesn’t know if he is, really. He probably isn’t. But he can’t get the idea out of his head. The thought of Shiro charging across the room for him, hiking him up by his thighs, pressing him to the bed…

“Do it yourself today,” he says. Patient and calm. “And I’ll touch you next time. Make sure you understand.”

“Shiro…”

Shiro grunts. “Don’t say my name like that.”

Keith has nothing to add but moves faster, tries to jerk off. It’s still clumsy and uncomfortable, uncoordinated, but he’s desperate. He feels like a mess. He tries to spread his fingers apart and gasps at how the stretch flares up his spine.

Shiro doesn’t announce that he’s going to come, but he moans and Keith manages to lift his head and watch. He stops jerking off for a second, leans up on his elbow. His fingers slow down but don’t stop as he looks, stuck in a loop, his movements languid and sensual. Shiro’s thighs tense and flex as he rolls his hips into his prosthesis. When he comes, it shoots up all over his shirt, and he doesn’t even complain about it, just lets his head tilt back and hang there over the back of the chair.

“Shit,” Shiro breathes. He jerks himself slowly a few times to come down, then looks over at Keith. When their eyes meet, his heart leaps into his throat.

“Come here,” Keith says. “Help me.”

Shiro swallows hard and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. He puts himself back in his pants and doesn’t even try to clean up before he stands and crosses the room, lies down on his side next to Keith.

“Here,” Shiro says. He reaches with his human hand to bat Keith’s out of the way, then wraps it around his shaft. And _Jesus_ , the difference it makes. He relaxes into it immediately, continuing to finger himself as Shiro takes over on his cock with long strokes.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” he breathes. He drops down onto his back, looks up into Shiro’s face. Being in this position makes it feel more real, like they might actually do this soon. Shiro over him and the way his hole is being filled. He groans. “I need more.”

Shiro smiles. He’s soft and relaxed, having come already. “Do you think you can add another finger?”

The suggestion flushes over the surface of his skin. He feels it in the bottoms of his feet, feels it in his nipples. He arches his back and uses his free hand to push his shirt up so that it bunches under his armpits. Shiro’s eyes leave Keith’s face to watch the way he pinches his nipple, rolls it between his fingers.

The funny part is that he’s never really messed with his nipples too much, but Shiro’s been making him think about it. Shiro’s eyebrows come together as he watches, and his hand falters on Keith’s dick for a moment like he’s distracted, but he speeds the pace back up as Keith pulls out of his hole completely to reposition.

It feels empty. The air feels cold on his hand. He brings his three middle fingers together to try, presses the tips to his hole, softer now, looser than before. Shiro strokes him evenly, sees him through it as he pushes in. The sensation makes his head fall back, makes his back arch into it. He squeezes his nipple and his head swims.

Perhaps a side effect of never giving up control is that he’s never been so completely _serviced_ before. The third finger stretches him hard and fast and it’s suddenly dangerous how close he is to coming. He has to breathe deep, steady himself, let go of his nipple. He’s shaking as he looks up at Shiro, jaw trembling with shivers.

“Why didn’t you ever bottom before?” Shiro asks. He sees that Keith is overwhelmed and slows, but his pace is steady. His hand is so big.

“I don’t know,” he says. It’s not necessarily a lie, but Shiro raises an eyebrow at him to suggest he thinks harder about the answer. He swallows. He does. “I was scared to.”

“Scared of what?”

He wants to lie. Doesn’t want to say it. He shakes and feels his body go tense as if it can shrink into itself, as if he can get smaller. But Shiro doesn’t waver, keeps staring, keeps touching him.

“I didn’t want to give up control.”

“You can still be in control from the bottom,” he points out. His voice is soft and he offers a mellow smile, and Keith thinks about the training deck again. But he wonders how long it would’ve taken Shiro to get to that place, how much practice it took.

“I was scared it would hurt. I didn’t…” he gasps as Shiro lets go to run his palm over Keith’s head, then strokes back down. “I didn’t trust anyone.”

Shiro blinks slowly. “I see.”

There’s more to it than that, Keith knows. But it’s too much. The sensation, and the closeness, and even if he wanted to keep talking he doesn’t think there’s space left in his brain for language.

Silence floats through the space between them, tense and suffocating, and Keith can’t take his eyes off Shiro’s face. His mouth hangs open as he pants, as Shiro keeps moving, and he sees the way Shiro licks his lips.

His lips look soft. Keith has the urge to sit up and kiss him but he thinks his body doesn’t work, too overpowered by everything they’re doing.

But then Shiro leans down. He shifts his weight on the bed and Keith’s heart practically stops as he waits for it, but Shiro bypasses him to curl in and lay a kiss to the swell of his ribs. His teeth press against the bones for a moment, the tease of a bite, and he drags upwards over the curve. Kisses the pink of Keith’s areola and then opens up to suck at his nipple.

And that’s it.

His vision blurs as he comes, and he stops fucking his fingers into his body but scissors them, stretches himself. He can’t focus on the mix of sensations between the stretch and Shiro’s hand and the wet heat on his nipple but he doesn’t want any of them to stop. He’s vaguely aware that Shiro is moving, shifting to get on his knees so that he use his other hand.

The metal is warm as he cups around Keith’s pec, and he squeezes gently as he continues to suck. It’s such a full-bodied sensation and Keith opens his mouth to speak, not sure what he’s even trying to say, but only rasps of breath come out. Gradually, gently, Shiro slows down, loosens the fist around Keith’s cock, brings him out of it slowly. His fingers trace over Keith’s balls, then his perineum, and he slots the V of his fingers around Keith’s where they’re still buried in his hole.

And he’s not even penetrating Keith, but just feeling his fingers so close, teasing over his sensitive rim, sends a tremor through his whole body.

It’s perfect one second and too much the next. He hisses and goes stiff and Shiro takes the hint, lets go of him, leans back, rolls away out of reach. Keith’s hand goes still but he holds himself open for a few moments, wanting to ease himself out of it. It’s all somewhat fascinating.

They don’t speak right away and Shiro gives him space. Once his breathing has evened out Shiro sits up and pulls off his t-shirt. It’s still got his cum on it from earlier, cool and sticky, and he hands it to Keith to clean himself off.

Shiro gets up and goes to the wardrobe compartment on the other side of the room, his back turned in some semblance of privacy as Keith cleans himself. He wipes his hand, his stomach. His face goes red as he wipes between his legs, glad that Shiro isn’t watching.

It’s dim in the room and Keith was too occupied with himself to bother looking, but he catches a glimpse of Shiro’s back at the last second before the new shirt drops down and covers him up again. The sight of it makes Keith’s skin cold. He looks at the floor, pretends he didn’t see as he pulls his pants back on.

That heat of the moment feeling is fading, his rationality is growing back, but it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as it usually does. There isn’t the usual crawling anxiety, he does’t feel like he needs to rush away.

Shiro looks so soft when he turns back around and smooths his shirt down over his hips. Keith finishes buttoning his pants and looks up at him, unsure what to say. He wants to leave. He wants to shower and go to bed. He wants _sleep_. He’s so fucking tired.

But he isn’t sure how to extract himself. Something feels different between them and he’s not sure how to navigate it, doesn’t know if he’s being too abrupt, too rude.

What’s the correct way to exit the room after your best friend talks you through fingering your own asshole? A dilemma.

His face heats up again and he finds himself shrugging, even though he didn’t say anything out loud. But he thinks Shiro gets it. He smiles and steps in closer to ruffle Keith’s hair.

“Go get some sleep,” he says. He draws back and keeps walking across the room until he flops down onto his bed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, then.

Can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my name is @kacyinthecosmos on twitter because using MONSTERS was too many letters :(](https://twitter.com/kacyinthecosmos/status/1158302082446823429)


	5. System 11:11

_trying to find a hole in the bottom of the soulless_  
_thinking about the world from the edge, you can't control this._  
_now what the fuck are you, some kind of half-assed astronaut?_  
_just a moment, please_  
_i must insist that you stop_  
_just a moment, please_  
_i must insist that you..._

* * *

He’s awake. Again. His fingers are laced together over his chest, as if being patient and behaved will help his cause. Shiro keeps telling him he has to do his best to relax, even if he doesn’t fall asleep. Just stay still. Chill out. Meditate. Blah blah blah.

Shiro sleeps like shit, too, is the thing. Keith knows it. He hears Shiro pacing the hallways sometimes at night, making security rounds that no one asked him to. But Shiro is Shiro. He’s always going to have something helpful to say, even if he has a hard time following his own advice. Maybe he thinks that if he repeats it enough times he’ll be able to do it, himself.

Meditating, though? Not for Keith. Like, he hasn’t really tried, to be honest. But he isn’t sure how. He’s too embarrassed to ask.

Breathe in, breathe out. He hopes if he keeps his body completely still that he’ll stop feeling it. That he’ll drift off. If he can just… relax…

Sometimes he knows why he can’t sleep. It’ll be that the room is a little too warm or he’s in a little too much pain. Or he’ll be comfortable but can’t stop worrying about Zarkon and all the other bullshit. Sometimes he thinks about Shiro, or misses his dad, or wonders if his mom is out there somewhere. If she thinks about him.

Or it’s that he does sleep, and doesn’t stay asleep. Sometimes the castle sounds still wake him up, still unfamiliar. Or he has nightmares. A few times his body has jolted awake to imaginary alarms going off, and he’s so hyped up on adrenaline that he can’t fall back asleep.

And tonight is… what? He doesn’t know what. It’s nothing. It’s everything.

It’s stupid, really. It isn’t new. This used to happen on Earth, too. It’s come and gone for most of his life. He hadn’t been able to make it through the night for months after his dad died and they made him go talk to someone about it. It was the same after the _pilot error_ , minus the insincere adult interference.

So he tries to remember how he dealt with it before. In the home they’d fed him kiddie benzos to shut him up and out in his shack, what? He’d drink or get high or jerk off or something.

That should be easy enough, he thinks.

Even if he doesn’t fall asleep, maybe he can _relax_.

Shiro’s voice echoes around in his memories. Lecturing him about sleeping, telling him needs to stay focused, take care of himself. _I need you in one piece, Keith_ , he’d said. Keith wonders if Shiro is even asleep now or if he’s having a bad night, too. Shiro’s probably good at mediating. The mental image is soothing for a second, remembering how Shiro had been at the Garrison, how easy and loose, and he imagines that it must have helped him on his longer missions.

But the thought goes sour, goes dark. He’s seen what Galra cells look like by now. He can picture Shiro in one. Wonders if stuff like _meditating_ is how he got through it all.

It lurches in his stomach and he sits up in bed. Wide awake again, his heart pounding. He rubs his hand over his chest as if it can slow down his heart rate. Tries to control his breathing again, counts it in and out, but he can hear how shaky it is, even to his own ears. What the fuck. This is why he doesn’t sleep.

He feels under his pillow with his free hand for the hard shape of his knife, just to know it’s still there. Feeling it, cool beneath his fingers, brings him back in a little closer. He pulls it out and tugs at the wrapping to see the emblem. It glows softly, the only thing he can see in the room.

But he’s dizzy. He’s hot. The anxiety is making his head spin and he thinks he’s gonna be sick if he can’t find something to focus on. His voice cracks when he speaks to the room, commands for the emergency floor lights to come on. It’s not so bright that he won’t be able to relax, but he can see enough of the room to remind himself where he is. He rubs at his chest again, slows his breathing. Puts his knife back.

This whole situation is fucking ridiculous.

He lies back, swallows. Tries to get comfortable again. It’s ironic, because it’s the nicest bed he’s ever had. He arranges the pillows how he wants, gets into position. Breathes in and out. Tries to relax. Start over. What had he been thinking about before he got sidetracked?

Shiro, of course. And he rolls his eyes at himself. What the fuck else would he be thinking about?

Well, no. Back up. Not just Shiro being maimed, and taken, and tortured. Before that. Trying to remember ways to fall asleep, to kill the insomnia. Telling him to try to relax. But Shiro is invading everything in his head these days, isn’t he? Because somehow his subconscious wants to give Shiro credit for the idea to jerk off, as if he’s the one that invented it. He hears Shiro’s voice again, filed into all the other sage wisdom he’s laid on over the years.

 _You should touch yourself_ , Shiro said. Keith squirms in his bed, his thighs rub together. _That way you know what to expect._

Shit.

They haven’t fooled around since, and Keith hasn’t tried it again, but he’s been replaying it in his head a lot. Jerked off to it more than a few times. His mind keeps extrapolating on it when he’s touching himself, not just remembering the incident itself but projecting into the potential future. Having something up his ass had been weird and nerve-wracking and he still doesn’t think he quite grasps what sex is going to feel like, but the whole idea is still filling him with such intensely horny apprehension. He still wants it.

It’s been quiet for a while, but they’ve kept busy in the castle. There’s been a lot of strategizing and navigating and training and they haven’t made time to get each other alone. Which is cool with Keith. Doesn’t wanna push too hard. And it’s not that he _wants_ them to get into some type of danger, but thinking about the near-death adrenaline fueled fuckfest to follow sets his teeth on edge. He likes that part.

Shiro said he’d be okay having sex. Keith wonders if that’s what will happen next time. He chews on his lip and rolls on his side in bed, wraps his arms tight around his body.God, it’s just…

His cock is stirring and he rubs at his temples in frustration. He tries to breathe again, tries to relax. But it’s okay. This is okay. Jerking off was on the table, anyway. He was ready to give it a shot. His dick is just a step ahead of him, ready for it.

He tries to draw it out, maybe hoping it’ll do a better job at exhausting him. Or maybe it’s just a matter of killing more time until morning. Either way, he starts over the clothes. Rubs at himself through his pajama pants, feels out the shape of his cock. He closes his eyes and turns against his pillow, breathes in the scent of his own shampoo.

Shiro uses the same one; there’s not much to choose from on the ship, after all. It’s not exactly the same as smelling Shiro himself, but it’s enough to kick his mind into gear. It’s missing that… _Shiro_ smell, that unique part that’s more than just his shampoo. Keith remembers how he’d been rolling around on Shiro’s bed while he fingered himself, how he’d breathed his scent. He’s still alarmed by how it had hit him like a train.

God.

The whole situation is fucked up, though. He shifts so that he can pull his pants down, just low enough to touch. It’s hard to wrap his mind around how his body _craves_ it, even as his cold rationality keeps reminding him that it’s _Shiro_. But the unease of the whole thing just… adds to it.

He gets in a few strokes, gets himself hard, and it feels dark, almost depraved, that he can’t stop picturing how it had been that night. Shiro hovering over him, his huge hand around Keith’s cock, all of it threaded into how stretched open he’d felt. It covers his body in chills to remember. He rolls his hips without meaning to, some phantom gesture of how he thinks he’d want to roll on Shiro’s cock.

And god, _god_. He jerks himself off faster and bites at the corner of his pillow to keep his voice down. It had been weird and he’d felt vulnerable but he fucking wants it again. Maybe right now.

His eyes open and he looks around the room for a moment, at the outlines created by the lighting strips. His hips stutter in place again and he can _feel_ his asshole clenching as he thinks about it. It makes his heart pound again, but this time he’s not panicking. It’s just… fuck. Has he ever been this horny before?

It’s the weirdest thing, but he knows right then and there, that second, that he’s not going to come just from jerking off. His body is begging him for it, wants to feel that way again. Wants to feel full again. Wants to experience the strangeness of it again, the stretch. Wants to imagine Shiro doing it.

He lets go of himself and sits up. God, Shiro isn’t even here and it still feels kind of embarrassing. Because he’ll probably ask, Keith guesses. He’ll figure it out.

But he doesn’t care. His stomach is fluttery just thinking about doing it again and he opens the bedside compartment to grab the bottle.

Shiro had given it to him. He hadn’t said anything, like he didn’t want to make it weird, but the action itself spoke loudly enough. Keith feels a little silly, like he’s fallen into a trap, but he’ll figure out how to be stubborn about it later. Right now it’s just him.

He tries lying on his side this time, and pushes his pants down a little lower to make more space. The cold air on his ass makes him feel so exposed, even with no one in the room. He feels his face flush in shame. His hands are shaking a little bit as he pours out the lube.

It’s just like last time, following Shiro’s advice. One finger at first. It’s just as weird as before and he chews on his lip, presses his face into the pillow again. He pushes in and out a few times, embarrassed by the quiet squelching noises. In a way it feels clinical, not sexy at all, but there’s something subliminal, psychological about it that still has him so fucking turned on.

Without Shiro here to talk him through it, he doesn’t use the same level of finesse. It’s more rushed and desperate. He adds his second finger without taking time to adjust, but the way it burns makes him moan into his pillow. Even two fingers don’t compare to the thickness of Shiro’s cock, the _weight_ of it. It’s frightening and scary and he knows he trusts Shiro, know Shiro will make it good for him, but he can’t imagine that it won’t hurt.

But he kinda wants it to hurt.

Cause, fuck. He’s touched Shiro’s cock, he’s had it in his mouth at this point. And he just… he just… he _wants it._

He wants to jerk off and rocks his hips forward into his left hand, but the angle is all wrong. He’s uncoordinated with his left hand, and his arm is awkwardly pinned beneath his body as he lies there on his side. He drags his fingers in and out of his body and knows he can’t come like this, either, and it snowballs in his mind as he wishes he had a toy or something. Strange how it escalates that fast.

Fuck, but he needs more.

He pulls out for a second to add more lube, sort of making a mess, and goes to add a third finger. The angle hurts his wrist and the stretch seems impossible for a moment. He breathes hard as he works his way through it. Wonders what it’ll be like when it’s Shiro.

It seems awkward and undignified and stupid but he gives up and grabs one of his extra pillows to put between his legs. He’s not sure what he wants it to feel like, except that he just needs the pressure on his dick. And it works, he finds a rhythm. He plunges his hand into himself and fucks forward into his goddamn pillow and promises he’ll never admit it to anyone.

Shiro had sent him off with a bottle of lube expecting him to sit here alone in his room, fingering himself. Kind of like how he’d snuck condoms into the stuff he’d left behind when he went to Kerberos. It isn’t hot. It’s not.

He wishes he knew how much time has gone by since that night in Shiro’s room. Fucking, putting his asshole on display like that. Thinking about it makes his face hot and his stomach icy. He tries to imagine how it will go down, how Shiro will open him up. His mind automatically goes to other partners he’s had and the way he’d treated. He remembers how rough he could be, bending people in half, pounding them until they were breathless and begging.

God, he wants that.

But he wonders how long he should wait until he makes a move to act on this loosely-made promise to fuck. He wonders if it’ll be coming on too strong if he doesn’t give the proposition enough time to breathe.

Cause like, they talked about it, and that’s fine. Keith feels a lot better about the whole arrangement in general. But still, just because they’ve made it past the initial awkwardness of being best-friends-who-trade-orgasms, Keith will die if he winds up coming across as clingy,

He groans and presses the pillow tight against his groin.

The thing is that they don’t really have a schedule out in space, which is why it gets confusing sometimes. It’s hard to make plans when they never know when they need to spring to action. There’s a structure to their _days_ , of course; Shiro insists on it. Insists they have scheduled meals and make sure no one is sleeping in too much. They do drills and combat training. But there’s no rhythm to following days of the week. And he believes that Shiro was probably correct when he assumed they’d been in space four months, back on that first night they’d fooled around. But now Keith honestly doesn’t know how long it’s been since that, either.

The not sleeping doesn’t help. His circadian rhythm is all kinds of fucked up.

He’s still not sure he can hit his prostate and wonders what he’s doing wrong, but there are these occasional glances of feeling that fire into his belly. He wants to focus and figure it out, but he has a feeling that he’ll just come right on the spot if he gets it right. Which is silly, he thinks. Not sure why he’s trying to draw it out when he’s close, anyway.

For a moment he tries to fan out his catalog of past experience and try to place what he’s feeling. He can’t remember ever feeling apprehension mixed into arousal like this. No one ever made him feel so small and uncertain before. He wouldn’t have allowed it, in the past. But with Shiro… 

It’s uncomfortable and weird being on this downward spiral. He’s not sure how far he can ride it before it gets complicated, he just knows his body fucking needs it. He’s not sure what it is about Shiro, or the situation. But, fuck. Fuck.

He can feel the energy coiling inside and his hand is shaking as he presses in as deep as he can, as he stretches himself. He likes the way it flashes sensation as he pushes in over his knuckles. And it unlocks his orgasm so quickly he almost regrets it. It catches him by surprise and he’s stuttering a whimper into the back of his other hand, not sure where to move his body as he fucks into the pillow and tries to move his fingers faster in and out.

The pillow is just the right amount of pressure to make him come without hurting too bad when he tips over into oversensitivity. He eases back, pulls out. For a moment he stays still, aware of the mess he’s made, not sure what the next move is. He waits for his blood to stop pounding in his ears to try to clean himself up. By the time he gets back in bed, he’s wide awake again.

At least he’s feeling relaxed, though.

He wonders, again, if there isn’t some near-death experience to goad them into fucking, how long he should wait before trying to initiate it. And he reminds himself that he isn’t even sure how long it’s been.

Honestly, Keith hadn’t been cut out for the Garrison, and hadn’t been cut out for school either, and something tells him that it would’ve been a complete nightmare if he’d been made to get a regular job once he ran out of assets from his dad’s estate. What had his shitty tenth grade English said about him?

_I don’t think he’d necessarily fit in with the rigid Garrison culture._

She wasn’t wrong. He sighs at the ceiling.

Still, sometimes out in space Keith wishes there was some semblance of structure, some way to keep track of time in a way that makes sense. Not that it really matters out here, but...

Actually, if he’s not kidding himself, he’d kinda lost track of that on Earth, too, right at the end there.

Whatever.

* * *

They pick a quiet day for a supply run.

He ignores the fucking _look_ that Lance gives them when Shiro volunteers to take Keith to get it done. It’s reflex to check if Pidge is gonna give them shit about it, too, but they’re too absorbed in whatever they’re doing to even listen, with lines of code flashing in their glasses. Keith doesn’t even know what they’re doing.

Shiro claps him on the shoulder as he proposes it to the room and Keith wonders if the others have gossiped about them. No one seems to care, or notice, or give a fuck. That’s good. Just Lance, and maybe it fills Keith with a tiny bit of joy that he looks like he’s gonna explode if he doesn’t make some joke about it, but respects Shiro enough not to.

None of it feels urgent. They make sure to eat something first and don’t rush to get ready. It gives Keith enough time to rearrange his med kit and maybe sneak the bottle of lube in there, just in case. Not that he’s hoping for anything, but they haven’t been alone together in a while. Can’t hurt to be prepared.

Shiro’s face is so friendly and bright when he comes by Keith’s room to get him, see if he’s ready. It’s disarming enough that Keith finds himself recoiling on the inside, drawing into himself out of defense. But he tries to chill out, be cool about it. Does his best to smile back and follow along.

They take Black. Keith hovers off to the side, holding the back of Shiro’s chair, and tries to keep his eyes on the stars. Definitely not watching Shiro’s posture and the strong lines of his shoulders as he pilots. Not staring at the size of his hands or anything. Even from the cockpit and not even the one piloting, he can _feel_ the size of Black. The weight of her, the power. Shiro handling her with such graceful control creeps along the bottom of Keith’s spine.

It’s an uneventful mission. They touch down on an Earth-like planet called Laztana. It’s warm with blue skies and they can breathe without their helmets. Keith knows he can be petulant, even when he’s not trying to be, but in spite of his own instinct he thinks it’s actually nice. They don’t speak much, but it’s a comfortable silence. It’s nice to be outside for a little while. Keith collects the bioluminescent lake water until their containers are full and Shiro collects samples of various plants from a list Coran gave them. They stay within earshot of each other but don’t speak too much. Stay focused.

He can’t figure out why Shiro volunteered them. If it’s because he wanted time alone, he’s not making any moves. If it was strictly to get Keith outside, for his own good… well. That’s condescending. And he feels defensive about it. But Shiro isn’t wrong. Fine.

So maybe he’s feeling a little on edge about it, a little self-conscious. He loads the water into Black and comes back outside, sits on the ground by the edge of the lake and waits for Shiro to finish up. He could help, but he thinks Shiro’s got it. Shiro will probably just tell him to relax, anyway.

There are little ways that Laztana is clearly not Earth. It has extra moons that are visible, pale and low in the sky. What would be the typical ambience of the outdoors is off; not the familiar cadence of birds and cicadas. The water is glowing a soft opalescent. But it’s close. It’s enough. He skips a rock out onto the water and tries to pretend all of it is normal.

This has been a game he’s played most of his life. Trying to space out until nothing hurts, even if it’s only for a little while. Pretending that things are okay, just like this. He hasn’t been destroyed. He breathes the air and tries to give himself a minute, just a minute, where he can pretend they aren’t stuck in a war.

There’s something bitter and dark inside, wrapping him tight. And he should know better by now that he can retract his claws where Shiro is concerned. But it’s hard. It’s so wired in, and sometimes he can’t remember who he’s supposed to be without it. He tries to breathe deep, to chill out, to appreciate this rare moment where he can be quiet and safe.

Shiro shows up beside him as he’s hitting his stride. He ruffles Keith’s hair.

“Why don’t you help me bring this stuff inside?” he asks gently.

Keith has to squint against the sunlight when he looks up at Shiro. He can’t quite make out the expression on Shiro’s face, but his heart kicks in his chest. He nods and gets up, brushes himself off, grabs one of the bags. Shiro gestures for Keith go to first, and he’s incredibly conscious of the way Shiro’s watching his ass as he ascends the steps up into Black’s cargo hold.

They work alongside each other in silence, securing the packages and double-checking the lists. Keith has to fight himself to keep from stealing glances. It’s stupid how nervous he is, like he’s a virgin or something. But that’s sort of how he really feels. He swallows and wipes his hands on his thighs, takes the deep breath he needs to find the words, but when he turns to speak to Shiro, to maybe initiate it, Black shifts, and rumbles, and the shrill chirping of the radar is going off through the alarm system.

“The fuck?” he asks. He and Shiro look at each other, both frowning as they process the sound, and then they’re grabbing their helmets and taking off for the cockpit.

Everything is lit up and beeping when they step inside, blips of red flashing on the navigation hologram.

“Shit,” Shiro says as he’s getting seated, grabbing the throttles, glancing back and forth between the different charts. He turns to look at Keith over his shoulder and raises one of his eyebrows. “Looks like we have company.”

There’s a strange flood of energy in Keith’s body as he grabs the back of Shiro’s chair and plants his feet, as he stares up at the blips on the charts. It’s a weird mix of fear and excitement. From here it’s hard to tell but they’re probably small fighter ships, maybe canvassing the area. But they’re circling overhead, out of sight, waiting for them.

“I don’t know how the fuck they keep finding us,” Shiro mumbles. It seems like more of an afterthought, like he’s saying it to himself more than saying it to Keith. Keith takes it as a rhetorical statement and doesn’t comment, but watches through the windows as they lift off. The color of the sky deepens until they break out of the atmosphere and the ships come into view.

There are five of them, circling, and they get a shot in before Shiro even has time to respond. It makes Keith’s heart leap into his throat, and he staggers back but balances at the last second.

Five… isn’t _too_ many. Not really. He wouldn’t feel justified blowing it off completely, that would be irresponsible. It’ll take effort. It’s right that his body is kicking into a fight or flight response. He takes a deep breath and adjusts around the way the adrenaline pinches at his kidneys.

But the thing he’s realizing, something warm in his chest, is that he knows Shiro can handle it.

Shiro engages Black’s laser and cuts through the hull of the closest ship while the other four circle around. They take a shot to the right flank and Black careens to the side. Keith slips and crashes into the wall.

“Shit, sorry,” Shiro says. He spares a second to look over at Keith and make sure he’s okay. That his hands are still moving, still in control of the weapons even when he’s not watching, flutters in Keith’s gut. He reaches for something to hold onto and Shiro is… laughing? Keith looks past him, through the windows, to see the wreckage of the ship flying in all different directions.

He sees the next ship dart by the corner of his eye, rounding on them to attack, and he’s about to point it out when Shiro rolls Black to the left and takes care of that one, too. Keith’s feet slide across the floor and he slaps his hand up at the ceiling to stay in place. 

It’s not his lion and he’s not feeling connected to Shiro the way he does when they’re in Voltron, but there’s quiet energy trilling through, tingling in the back of his head. The way Shiro and Black communicate with each other fills the whole room with a nearly tactile charge. It takes his breath away a little bit. Shiro spins Black again and looks over his shoulder to check on him.

“Hold onto something,” he says, and his fingers tap playfully against the throttle for a second. Keith swallows and nods and scoots closer so grab the back of the chair with one hand, the other still planted against the ceiling. Shiro watches him get into place and he fucking _winks_. The motherfucker.

“I’m good,” Keith mumbles, and his hands are a little sweaty in his gloves as he adjusts his grip. Shiro smiles and turns back to look at what he’s doing.

“I got this,” he says, and Black is moving so fast Keith can’t even tell where they’re going.

He lets out a yell, just from the exertion of staying in one place as Shiro darts in and out between the last three ships. Black goes up and over, hovers behind one of them to use a shield in the crossfire. The Galra blasts through that one itself, and Black has to jump out of the way again. The explosions light up the cockpit, shining across Keith’s visor, and he feels that kick of energy inside again.

It’s impossible to tell from here if there are actually people inside the ships or if they’re being driven by sentries, but the not knowing kicks inside his chest. Schrödinger’s fucking Galra soldier. Shiro _could_ be taking lives right now. They could be suffocating or burning in their last moments if being blown apart didn’t kill them instantly.

He steels himself against the inertia as Black flips in the air and Shiro throws its whole body into the next ship. The crash rattles Keith’s teeth but he finds himself laughing from the thrill, cheering Shiro on.

They could be alive. Shiro could be killing them. And by all means, Keith should take that to heart. It should feel dark and fucked up and _wrong_.

Well.

It does. Keith looks at Shiro and he’s impressed again at the fluid way he pilots, how easily he maneuvers between the debris and zeroes in on the last ship. He feels their connection again like it’s hovering in the air itself, something he can breathe. It’s so… _big_. And the ruthlessness of it feels wrong, feels dark.

But it feels good.

The last ship begins to turn away, like it’s going to fall back and evade. There’s a moment where he thinks Shiro is going to let it, because Shiro is a good guy like that. Ethical. But the aura of his fury twinges through the room, presses in all around Keith. It’s murky, sorting through the signals. Hard to make complete sense of. But he feels Shiro’s anger thrumming through Black’s walls, rumbling in the floor, heating the space between them. Anger and something else, something protective. Destructive.

Keith skids on the floor as Shiro throws Black forward to pursue, and he’s getting dizzy as the laser cuts through the last ship, zig-zags across it so that it breaks into pieces.

His ears are ringing as Black coasts to a stop, and he looks around them in the debris field to make sure they’re all gone. Checks the charts again but there’s nothing.

Shiro sits still, his chest heaving a little bit, and his hands squeeze around the throttles for a moment before he eases up and lets go. He’s tense as he sits back in his seat, his fingers scratching against the top of his thighs.

His connection with Black is fading out, quieter now, but Keith can feel the way it expands before it collapses. Hazy, but he can sense the anger still. And something like guilt, and something like need. It’s hard to tell apart but kinda stabs him in the chest.

“Are you okay?” Keith asks. Shiro blinks up at him and exhales slowly. He licks his lips and it takes a minute before he finally nods his head and relaxes in his seat.

 _You killed them_ , Keith thinks. But it’s more than that. The thrill of the violence is one thing, the way it shoots through his nerves. Shiro’s rearranging his face and trying to hide whatever’s bothering him, trying to present himself as cool and confident again, and being able to sense Shiro’s apprehension pulses in Keith’s body, as well. Not just the violence, but… shit, Keith isn’t sure how to explain it to himself.

It’s warm as it dawns on him, settles bone-deep in his body. Shiro is dangerous and strong, and Keith _likes it,_ but he also likes the way it makes him feel _safe_.

Shiro’s smile is a little forced but Keith appreciates the effort nonetheless. “Yeah. Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“No, I’m fine,” he says. He puts his hand on Shiro’s shoulder and it’s almost like the energy ripples around them through Black. He can’t tell if Shiro knows that Black is doing it and giving him away like this, but he rubs back and forth over Shiro’s shoulder for a moment to test it. It pulses again around him, Shiro’s reaction palpable between them, but he isn’t sure how to move on it.

Shiro stands before Keith has to decide. It’s abrupt and almost startles him, and he steps back until he hits into the side console. Shiro crowds into his space.

“That was a close call,” he says quietly. His right hand clicks as he reaches to touch Keith’s breast plate. The look on his face makes Keith’s mouth go dry.

“Y-yeah,” he says. Without thinking he reaches to hold Shiro by the waist, his hands slotting into the soft spaces between the armor. “You’re decent at your job, though, so it’s fine.” He’s trying to tease but his voice is so devoid of humor, breathy and flat and incapable of expressing anything except how turned on he’s getting.

Shiro leans in close, some parody of kissing, and their visors crush against each other, keep them at a safe distance. It’s not a kiss but Keith wants to shrink away; looking into Shiro’s eyes up close like this is making him a mess and he doesn’t know what to do.

“I need you to land,” he whispers. “Please.”

It flickers across Shiro’s eyes and Keith feels like the room is getting smaller. “Why?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

Shiro stares at him hard, enough that Keith almost begins to squirm, not sure if he’s more aroused or more uncomfortable. He’s so distracted by his own feelings that he can’t tell what Shiro wants, can’t read him. He puts a hand back against the console to brace himself.

“Why can’t we stay up here?” Shiro asks.

It helps him pry his eyes away, and he looks out the window again. Pieces of the fighter ships are floating outside, still glowing where they’d burned.

“It’s not safe up here,” he says. “What if they come back?”

Shiro grins like he’s caught Keith in a lie. “Maybe we should go back to the castle, then. As soon as possible.”

He takes a deep breath, shakes his head. Stands up straight and gives Shiro a push on the chest, back towards his seat. “They can wait.”

“And you can’t?”

“Shiro, come on,” he says. Shiro cocks an eyebrow but complies, gets back in his seat, engages the controls. Keith hovers over his shoulder and chews on his lip. “You’re being an asshole.”

He wonders if the few minutes it takes for Shiro to land them back down on Laztana will be enough to kill the mood, and he taps his fingers nervously on the back of the seat. But it grows, it builds. They weave in and out of the debris and Keith wonders again if there are bodies inside, if people have been killed. Maybe he’ll feel ashamed later at how hard the idea makes him, but they’re edging into the usual haze where he doesn’t fucking care right now.

All that matters is that the moment Shiro sets down, Keith climbs onto his lap. Their armor clacks together, chest to chest, and their helmets roll against each other again, keeping them safely apart as Keith immediately begins to grind his hardon into Shiro’s abs.

Shiro laughs under his breath but he’s reaching around to grab Keith’s ass, to hold him in place. He squeezes along to Keith’s rhythm and rolls his hips up so that Keith can feel how hard he is, too. They both moan at the contact.

“Hey,” Shiro says. He squeezes again, harder, but then eases back, touches at the edges of Keith’s helmet beneath his jaw. “Take this off, yeah?”

Shit.

It kicks panic through his body but he nods, rocks forward again because he can’t stop. The way it curls heat between his legs is enough to comply, to repurpose the nervous energy. He swallows and nods again. “Okay. Yeah.”

Shiro takes his off, too. Keith can’t see himself as he does it, but he can feel how damp his hair is and knows it probably looks like a complete disaster. But Shiro’s does, too. His bangs are going in twenty different directions, matted into messy strands, but. Fuck, he looks good.

There’s heat coming off Shiro’s body and they’re close enough that Keith can see all the details in his face. The edges of his scar are so rough up close. It surges inside and his pants are too tight, it’s too hot. Keith can’t handle the struggle that comes up in his mind, whether or not he wants to know what happened to Shiro’s fucking face. It looks like it was painful.

He wraps his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and pulls in tighter, rides him harder. Shiro runs his hands over Keith’s flight suit, all the places between the armor that he can touch. And Keith can come like this, he knows it. He forces himself to look away from Shiro’s face, it’s too suffocating, and presses his forehead into the crook of his neck, instead. It lights up all his nerves when he breathes there, smells Shiro’s soap and the clean sweat.

“Touch me,” he mumbles. He squeezes his thighs in tight around Shiro’s lap. Shiro’s dick is so hard between them. Keith shifts his weight down onto it to feel, grinds in to make it real.

Shiro’s breath stutters, hot on the shell of Keith’s ear, and he moves to put his hand between them, to grab at Keith’s cock over his pants. Keith whimpers at the contact and pushes into it, takes a second to enjoy it, but it’s not what he meant.

“No,” he says. His lips are dragging across Shiro’s throat as he speaks. “The other way.”

“What do you mean?”

Keith groans, frustrated. Shiro is a douchebag; he knows what Keith meant. Keith’s face is hot. “ _In_ me. Please.”

“Jesus,” Shiro mumbles. His voice is so close to Keith’s ear and shakes down his spine. He squeezes Keith’s ass again and begins to pull at the seams at his waist, where the suit comes apart. His gloves are still on but he pushes his hands into Keith’s pants, squeezes his bare ass. “There’s—” his voice catches in his throat and he grunts as he ruts up against Keith “—no lube out here. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

A noise comes out of Keith’s throat as he forces himself to stop moving long enough to sit up, pull away from where they’re pressed together. He sits up straight, leans back against Shiro’s thighs, and digs into his pack for it. He doesn’t think he’s used so much that Shiro will call him on it, not sure if that’s something Shiro would even notice or if it’s his own self consciousness making him paranoid, but he shoves the bottle into Shiro’s hand without another word.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says. Shiro’s eyes flare wider for a moment before he relaxes, takes a deep breath. He smiles and looks away so that he can take his gloves off.

“Not here,” he says.

“I want you to.”

He’s laughing as he snaps the bottle open and pours some out into his human hand. “I’m sure you do. Have you been practicing?”

“Leave me alone.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a half-grin and he pinches Keith’s ass with his prosthetic hand. “That’s so hot.”

Keith whines as Shiro’s hands go back to his ass, push his pants just enough out of the way. The Galra hand squeezes tight, enough that his skin breaks out in chills, and he can feel it on his asshole as Shiro pulls him open, exposes him. He puts his hands on Shiro’s shoulders to stay balanced, lets his head hang down to watch where their dicks are rubbing on each other through their pants.

“Hey,” Shiro says, and his human middle finger presses against Keith’s rim. He whimpers and rubs harder into Shiro’s body for the pressure on his cock. Shiro doesn’t push inside, though, just traces a circle around and around.

“Keith,” he tries again, and his Galra hand touches beneath Keith’s chin. “Look at me.”

His instincts are pushing and pulling in both directions in dread and need. Doesn’t want to look at him. He rocks up and down to dictate where Shiro touches him, even tries to lower himself onto Shiro’s finger, but Shiro pulls back, stays in control. He doesn’t want to look, though. It’ll be too real, too close. Maybe _intimate_ is the word he’s looking for. Can’t have that.

But it’s stupid, because he wants to. Wants to see again. Wants to feel that weird surge of pain in his chest again, stare at Shiro’s face and his eyes and his scar and let the anger wash over. It’s like pressing against a bruise and he wants it.

So he looks.

Shiro’s eyes flutter and almost close as they make contact.

“Thank you,” he whispers. And then he sinks his finger inside.

“F-fuck,” Keith moans, and his hands scrabble at Shiro’s shoulders. It’s hard to get a grip on the armor and he settles for wrapping his arms around again. He touches the back of Shiro’s head with one hand, and his gloves are still on but he can feel the heat and damp through them.

It’s different than doing it himself. Not as distracting. Shiro’s hands are so much bigger and he’s so gentle. Infuriatingly gentle. He moves in and out a few times, slowly, not too deep, and won’t take his eyes off Keith’s. Keith’s heart thunders in his ears. He doesn’t know what the fuck Shiro wants, why he’s staring like that. He has to close his eyes to collect himself, and this time when he moves to sink down further, Shiro lets him.

There’s still something distracting and clinical about it, but even the weirdness of all of it works to turn him on. He still finds himself craving the stretch, enjoys the way it feels with the tight pressure on his cock. It surprises him more than he cares to admit. And it’s not that he regrets not doing this sooner, because he doesn’t. He lets Shiro move in and out, gasps when the ridge of his knuckles hit him in a wave. He’s glad he waited, glad he chose Shiro for it.

“I need more,” he says. He reaches between them and palms at his hardon through his pants. It’s mildly alarming how desperate he feels. It’s dumb that he’s obsessing over this idea so hard; he’s made it this far in his life, and it shouldn’t be a big deal to wait, but it’s like a floodgate opened when he decided to try it. He needs to know. The impatience is burning inside. His voice is small, begging, almost whining. “Please fuck me.”

Shiro pulls most of the way out and Keith feels a second finger pressing softly to his rim, testing its give. Teasing him there. He chuckles, and his right hand comes down on Keith’s wrist to keep him from touching himself. “Can’t we wait till we have a bed? Be a gentleman.”

Ugh. He opens his eyes and looks into Shiro’s face, needing to see for himself. Needing to know _is he fucking serious_? and trying to gauge whether or not he’s gonna get his way. Their eyes lock and Shiro smirks, and then he’s pushing in with two fingers.

Keith gasps and his body jolts forward, leans the last couple inches into Shiro until their faces are nearly touching. _Fuck_ , Shiro’s fingers are so much bigger than Keith’s, so much more dexterous, and he’s hovering there open mouthed and that’s how it happens.

He doesn’t mean to do it. Really. Honestly. Because it’s crossing a line, and it’s one thing to fool around and get each other off and another thing to fucking _kiss_ someone. And he’s had Shiro’s dick in his mouth and he’s currently being stretched open on his fingers but it isn’t taking the edge off of how weird this feels. Kissing Shiro is the strangest of all.

There are warnings firing off in his mind, telling him that it’s gross. _Bad idea bad idea bad idea._ But he leans into it. He puts his hand on Shiro’s chest, the other still curled around his shoulder, and it’s almost chaste at first. Uncertain and experimental. But they’re so close, breathing each other’s air, that it feels natural, like muscle memory. He leans forward and kisses Shiro right on the center of his mouth, and it’s dry and quick, awkward and almost platonic. His lips are chapped but there’s just enough horniness fucking possessing him that he doesn’t worry about it, isn’t self-conscious.

The second kiss is mostly the same, except it lands at the corner of Shiro’s mouth. Shiro’s hand clacks against Keith’s jetpack as he reaches behind to hold him. It makes him want to lean in one more time, and he’s almost there when something… something…

… happens inside.

He gasps again, and Shiro meets him halfway to kiss him open-mouthed, stealing his breath. His eyes open and close, trying to focus on something, his whole body shaking and confused. But this must be it, he’s realizing. Shiro’s massaging him on the inside, over his prostate, right where his body wants it, and the shock is overwhelming.

The kiss is sloppy. Keith goes messy and desperate and keeps his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to make sense of everything he’s feeling. Shiro’s hand slides up over this back to settle at the base of Keith’s skull, holding him gently in place as he tries to keep the pace civilized. Keith’s knees slide apart, as much as they can in the seat, to get his legs to open wider, to invite Shiro to keep going, right there.

It’s making him leak in his pants, harder than he ever has before. Alarming, really, how sticky and wet it feels. Embarrassing, but it’s so fucking hot and he doesn’t want to stop.

He remembers seeing Shiro kiss a few times. Knows that Shiro likes it slow and patient. It was bound to happen with the amount of time he spent with Shiro and Adam, how many weekend leaves he spent at their apartment. There had been the time he’d walked in on them making out in their kitchen, Shiro half-perched on the counter with Adam pressing up between his legs. And that time they’d been way too fucking touchy saying goodbye at the door when Adam was heading out for a Saturday meeting. They thought Keith was still asleep on the couch, and maybe he was pretending to be. Keith didn’t begrudge them, and still doesn’t; they were in their early twenties and he was some scruffy kid always third-wheeling. He actually respected that he didn’t walk in on them _more_. It’s admirable that they could keep their hands off each other around him.

Shiro was always patient, in control. Powerful. Keith had always felt guilty when he’d see it, like he was invading their privacy. And then that information became his to store away. Not sure why he needed to know what Shiro kissed like, not sure he _wanted_ to know. But it was there, and now he feels it for himself.

Powerful.

Hot and little gross, fucking weird, but he moans into it. Their tongues push softly together, warm and wet, and the thought flashes in Keith’s head again. _That’s how Shiro tastes_. It makes him shudder. He lets his weight fall down against Shiro’s lap, feeling his hard dick again. It’s frustrating with he layers between them but he can feel the shape of it against his own, and the clumsy desperation of all of it is so good.

He pulls away from Shiro’s mouth and opens his eyes. Shiro opens his, too, and they’re glassy and distant. His mouth hangs open, lips red and shiny. Keith lets the silence hang between them for a moment, and then breathes out a nervous laugh.

“Sorry,” he says. His cheeks must be bright fucking red. He turns his head to the side and leans into Shiro’s body. The armor is just cool enough to feel good against his face. He paws at the back of Shiro’s neck as he feels the pressure on his prostate again, coaxing all the energy in his body straight to his cock. “That was weird, I’m sorry.”

“Mhmm,” Shiro says. He pets the back of Keith’s head. Keith goes tense and sees colors bursting behind his eyelids and he clenches around Shiro’s fingers. He feels a third teasing against his rim, and _fuck, fuck, please_ , he stops breathing for a second in anticipation.

Shiro laughs softly but his voice is strained like he’s having a hard time keeping calm. “You gonna come like this?”

“Hnngh, fuck. Yeah.” His breath fogs against Shiro’s armor as he says it. 

“Come here,” Shiro says, and his free hand is on Keith’s jaw. Keith resists for a moment, but Shiro is still teasing him, and drawing his fingers out all together. He takes a deep breath to steady himself before he lifts his head again and looks into Shiro’s face. He’s pulled almost all the way out and Keith wants to protest how empty it makes him feel, but then all three of his fingertips are hovering there together, pressing against his hole without plunging inside. Shiro cocks an eyebrow as he looks down at him. “Is this okay?”

Keith only nods, because he doesn’t trust himself to speak, and Shiro is looking into his eyes when he sinks back in. It rearranges Keith’s insides.

He feels stuck there, doesn’t know if he wants to kiss Shiro again or hide his face. Wants to look away from him but _can’t_. It’s too intense, all of it. Shiro’s eyes are too dark.

Shiro’s hands are strong and powerful and Keith rocks himself back again, to go deeper.

“I’m gonna come,” he mumbles. He bites his lip and tries to keep his expression neutral, feeling utterly ridiculous already and not wanting to make a stupid face. And it’s remarkable how put-together Shiro is, how well he’s hiding it, because he nods, and his eyes flutter for a moment as he swallows hard.

“Me too,” he whispers. “Do it.”

He doesn’t want to admit that Shiro losing it is what sends him over the edge. He doesn’t want to think about it or put too much stock in it. But there’s something satisfying about it, and humbling, and he knows later on when he’s alone it’ll just feed into his horniness some more. But he sees the way Shiro’s eyes close, and feels how tense he goes under Keith’s body. There are still layers between them, protecting him from the mess of it, but he knows it’s happening and it makes his brain short out.

It’s been uncomfortable trying to adjust around this realization that he’s attracted to his best friend, and if he admits it’s mutual it’s gonna get even harder. But they’re in the moment and he doesn’t care.

He curls forward and leans into Shiro’s shoulder to hide his face, shaking all over as he comes. It’s disgusting and wet in his pants but something about the messiness of it just adds to everything. He pulls tight to Shiro’s body and feels himself squeezing around his fingers and it’s crazy how intense the orgasm is, feeling full like this. Even as he rides through it and tries to enjoy it, he’s vaguely aware of how useless he’s going to be for the next few minutes, how powerless. Completely wrecked. Not in control.

But Shiro’s strong beneath him. Solid and sure. _He killed them._ And is it fucking moony that he kinda likes feeling safe like this? The warmth of the idea blends through all the frantic energy, soothing and good.

They keep rocking into each other for a few minutes, slowing down, easing out before it gets too painful. Shiro is gentle when he pulls out and tugs Keiths pants back into place. His hands come to rest on Keith’s hips but he doesn’t say anything.

Keith sits up once his ears stop ringing and takes a quick glance at Shiro’s face, but can’t bring himself to hold his gaze. He looks down at their laps, instead, and can see the wet stains left behind. He clears his throat and shudders.

“Can we rinse off before we go back?” he asks. He’s vaguely aware that they need to return as soon as possible, but feels okay risking a few extra minutes. He isn’t looking, but sees Shiro nodding in the corner of his eye. Shiro pats him on the thighs to get him to stand.

His legs are wobbly as they head back outside, towards the edge of the lake. He watches the sky as they walk, making sure it’s safe. Shiro is doing the same.

The post-orgasm fog is wearing off as they stop at the shore and he starts unhooking his armor. It’s not as bad as it usually is, slightly less awkward, and he’s rolling through the reasons why when he realizes this is the longest they’ve stuck around each other after.

He kneels next to the water once he’s undressed and tries to rinse the cum out of his suit the best he can. Focuses on what he’s doing, doesn’t speak. It’ll be a little damp on the way back, but he’d prefer that over the conspicuous stains. His head is hanging, watching the way his hands move over the fabric, over and over on the same spot, when he hears Shiro moving. It’s a reflex that he looks up and sees the way Shiro stretches, nude, before he wades waist deep into the water.

This is the third time that he’s seen, and this time he can’t pretend he didn’t notice. Broad daylight and there’s nothing to hide, nothing to mistake. He squeezes his suit in his hands, stares hard at the crosshatch of red lines on Shiro’s back, and for all the strength and safety he’d been basking in earlier, something breaks in his chest.

_They hurt him._

Shiro turns to face him and Keith wants to look away, guilty that he was caught staring, but it’s too out in the open now. It would be too obvious. He has the decency to meet Shiro’s eyes, though, instead of tracing the scars over and over. Shiro offers him a weak smile.

“Kinda gross, huh?” he asks, and there’s this weird little noise like he’s trying to laugh. Keith’s stomach hurts.

“No,” he says. He stands up and comes in the water also. It seems like Shiro is trying really hard to act natural, like it’s not bothering him. He’s cupping water in his hands and rinsing his face, squinting through it as Keith gets closer.

“You just…” Shiro shrugs. The water is glinting off his body in the sunlight. “I don’t know. You seem kinda put off.”

Keith looks again, close now. It’s almost too much to take in and there’s no way to know where they came from. Some are angry and red, raised. Some seem older, almost flushed smooth to his skin. One looks like a burn and another a bite. Something suspiciously resembling claw marks is wrapped around his bicep. His heart starts racing when he sees the clean straight ones near his navel, so neat and perfect that he knows they’re surgical.

“I’m not,” he says quietly. “It’s not like that.”

He looks away, down at the water for a moment. Sets himself to the task at hand, begins to rinse off his body. Scrubs his hands over his face, and the water feels nice on his warm cheeks.

He tries to pretend again that this is normal. Takes a deep breath and wonders if they could’ve had this, back on Earth.

Shiro clears his throat and Keith snaps out of it. He speaks softly, almost defeated.

“We should go.”

He looks up again and he doesn’t mean to stare but it’s so big between them, so obvious. He doesn’t want to stare but can’t avoid it, either. Doesn’t know how to. His eyes skim over again, and he visibly winces as he sees the mottled crimson around the edges of his prosthesis, so dark that it’s almost purple in spots.

Shiro’s real hand comes up and rubs at his bicep, his fingers trace over where the skin meets metal. He shrugs. “Come on.”

And he’s moving away, drawing back, keeping his face together even though his eyes are going dull. Keith’s hands fidget for a moment as he collects himself, but he finally reaches out to take Shiro’s hand.

“No, sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. It’s—you’re not gross.”

“Thanks,” Shiro tries to joke.

“No, I mean it. It’s just…”

He let go of Shiro’s hand and his fingers dance over the surface of the water. He thinks he knows what he’s trying to say, maybe just doesn’t know how to say it. Doesn’t know the words or doesn’t know how to be this open, either way. He pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes deep.

“It just…” be honest, Keith. “It makes me so fucking angry.”

“What does?”

His hands are shaking. “What they did to you.”

Shiro sighs. “Keith…”

He shakes his head and blinks, pushes his hair out of his face. He nods towards the shore and begins to head in. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not about me. I don’t want you to worry about making it easier for me.” He doesn’t look at Shiro as they step back onto land. “It’s just hard. To know.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. Just _yeah_. That’s it. The quiet swells between them and Keith kinda wants to die.

They don’t have towels but they do their best to shake the water off for a moment before they start pulling their clothes back on. Keith tries to remember how hard he came, just a short while ago, as if it can calm his nerves as he buckles the armor back into place. He peeks at Shiro when he’s done, to see if he’s ready. He’s dressed, but he’s just standing there. Staring into space over the lake.

He almost wants to pull away because it would be easier. Bury all these feelings where he can’t find them. He kicks at the ground for a moment and cracks his knuckles to work up the nerve to come closer and touch Shiro’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, and Shiro blinks the wistful look off his face. “Let’s go.”

Shiro smiles again, still weak but less sad. He turns so that they can face each other. This close, Keith has to look up to meet Shiro’s eyes.

There’s a beat of silence but Shiro finally nods.

“Can I hug you?” he asks.

It catches Keith completely off guard and he pulls his hand back. But he shrugs. “Yeah. Sure.”

And the arms are around him. Safe and strong and awkward and damp. Their armor keeps them safely apart, but Shiro crushes in. It makes Keith feel small.

But it’s good.

His arms come around Shiro’s mid-section and he just stays there in that moment. Tries to pretend it’s normal. Something about it feels healing and he’s not sure if Shiro initiated it for Keith’s sake or for his own. Maybe they both need it.

“Okay,” Shiro finally says. He pulls back and ruffles Keith’s hair. He looks lighter now, better. More normal. He touches Keith’s back over his jet pack and goes to steer him towards Black. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS just a PSA but I work on a ship and I've been on a break the last month and working on this fic nonstop with all this free time! :D But I'm heading back this weekend and I'm not gonna be posting as quickly. I also won't have regular wifi cause ship wifi totally blows LOL so I just wanna thank you so much for all the feedback you've left so far and any feedback in the future, even if I can't reply. It really motivates me so much!! <3 Love you! I promise I will continue. Just slower. =P
> 
> Anyway [send me horny Sheith stuff on Twitter!](https://twitter.com/kacyinthecosmos/status/1161917414432563202)


	6. Tonight the Stars Revolt!

_hang on to tomorrow because tonight the stars..._  
_target earth for me because tonight the stars..._  
_sing your favorite song because tonight the stars..._  
_show the way to die because tonight the stars revolt!_

* * *

It’s easy to think about death when it’s abstract—Keith is starting to realize that for as often as he thinks about death and faces his own, it’s often from the safety of afterwards, when the moment has passed. It’s the anxiety of what-ifs and worrying back on close calls, without the face-to-face confrontation in it. He thinks about death like this a lot, in the castle after, with his ribs bruised or his lip bleeding. He thinks about it when he’s with Shiro and tries to quell the electricity of all of it with sex and weirdness and friendship.

And it’s easy to think about death when it’s actionable—he’s skilled at compartmentalizing in the face of an emergency. He can throw himself into action without worry, because Shiro matters and he refuses to lose him again. His mind latches onto the things has to do to put himself between Shiro and Death, and it’s just a matter of acting on it. Simple.

 _Patience yields focus,_ he tells himself, and Shiro teases him because he accidentally said it out loud.

He stares ahead and only feels the cool sense of focus. It’s single-minded and easy like this, the only thing he has to think about. Get to Shiro. Get to Shiro.

Maybe later he can panic about it, worry about the close call. His body is rigid beneath the forced calm, like it’s freaking out on his behalf, but he ignores it. Later, he’ll play through how it fucking crushed him when Shiro went missing, and he’ll remember how the grief felt. There’s a base instinct inside that will do anything to keep from going through it again. But the instinct itself is what lets him turn the trauma off. He can focus. Worry about it later.

For now, he just has to figure this out.

_Get to Shiro._

Deep breath. Be patient. Patience yields focus.

It goes by in a blur once he begins to work through it, go through the motions. Shiro’s voice in the comms is a lifeline, as is his labored breathing when he gives Keith the quiet to think. Keith finds himself timing his own breath with Shiro’s, unconsciously, as if it can connect them to each other. There’s crashing, and static, and the surge of overwhelming power rumbling in the bottom of his brain when Black lets him in, but he breathes and breathes. Stays patient. Focuses.

Getting to Shiro is easy, having something to focus on feels natural. It’s a series of gestures, a list he can visualize in his head, one thing at a time. Get to Shiro. Save Shiro. Save Shiro. Save Shiro.

He’s still connected to Black as he lands her and climbs out, rushes to Shiro’s side. She wants him to save Shiro, too, wants them to come back inside. She’ll bring them back to Red, get everyone in one place.

And thinking about Shiro, saving him, hearing his voice going rough with pain through the comms, isn’t the same as finding him there on the ground. Shiro is startled by all of it, eyes wide and darting between Black and Keith and the dead animals that had surrounded him. His chest is heaving and there’s sweat on his face. But it’s quiet again. Keith does his best to stay cool, keep breathing. His brain scrambles to take stock of the situation, Shiro’s condition, tries to come up with a new list of objectives for getting them out of here.

He reaches a hand down to help Shiro up.

“You look like shit,” he says.

Shiro chuckles a little. He’s cradling his ribs with his human arm and Keith can’t see how bad the damage is, but he’s pale. He winces as he accepts Keith’s help with his prosthetic hand and wobbles up to his feet.

“Thanks,” he says. There’s a lightness in his tone, like he’s responding to Keith’s joke, but the look he gives Keith is pointed and heavy and for a moment Keith can _feel him_ through their connection with Black. It’s gone before he can make sense of it, but it ripples through his spinal cord.

“Come on, old timer,” he says, and he holds Shiro by his metal bicep to walk him back inside. Shiro doesn’t comment on the way Keith was able to take control of Black, but it’s blending through the connection in gentle waves. It’s trust and awe and warmth. He doesn’t comment but he sits down in the corner, still cradling his ribs, and Keith can feel the sense of relief pulsing through the cockpit as he takes a seat in the pilot’s chair.

They don’t speak during the ride. Keith taps his fingers on the throttles as the adrenaline wears off. He supposes they’ve taken their bullshit too far, made it a habit, because his body is feeling antsy and impatient for the extra-curriculars. He rolls his eye at himself and hopes Shiro can’t feel it through the connection. Because this isn’t a good time, it’s really not. This wasn’t sexy-danger. It’s… something else.

Red is sitting upright and at attention, waiting for them, as he comes above the horizon and sees her. There’s energy passing between the two lions and Keith feels the flow of it in his veins. It’s not verbal, not something he can translate. It’s ancient and magic between them. Unknowable.

He just sits there for a moment after they land, not sure what to do or say, not sure what Shiro needs now that he’s safe.

Well, safe is relative. He rubs his eyes beneath his visor and his heart is pounding when he finally gets up.

Shiro is slumped in the corner, almost sleeping. There’s barely any color in his face.

“Are you okay?” Keith asks.

Shiro’s eyes flutter open and he sits up a little straighter against the wall. He cracks a smile. “Probably not.”

Keith doesn’t like this.

He kneels by Shiro’s side and reaches to touch his hand, over where it’s covering his wound. “Can I see?”

Shiro doesn’t answer but he goes slack, and his eyes close as he relaxes against the wall. He lets Keith move him, peel his hand away.

Shit.

To be honest, Keith doesn’t know how to assess the damage. No blood, but the slashes are seared into Shiro’s skin, glowing purple. He doesn’t need to ask if it hurts; Shiro’s face says it.

“How do you feel?” he asks. He tries to compartmentalize again, wanting the clinical answer this time. Shiro opens one of his eyes and can probably see it in Keith’s face that he’s serious this time. He swallows hard and grits his teeth as he breathes.

“Cold. Heart is beating really fast. A little dizzy.” He looks down at the wound and it looks like he’s trying hard to focus through the pain, maybe come up with a solution. “I don’t know if our med kits can do anything. I’m not… really sure what type of first aid response is appropriate for glowing alien wound anyway.”

“Do you have blankets in here?”

Shiro shakes his head. Keith doesn’t recall Red having any, either. Maybe other species don’t go into shock the way humans do.

“Would you be more comfortable if we went outside? Maybe we can start a fire.”

Shiro lets out a few long exhales and his face is shiny with sweat again. He nods. “Yeah. Just… give me a minute.”

It’s pinching something inside his chest to watch Shiro in pain. He doesn’t like it. Lately he’s been accepting how small Shiro makes him feel and how much he likes it. How safe Shiro makes him feel. He wonders if it’s selfish that he doesn’t like seeing Shiro like this; if it’s purely based on his stupid horniness.

But, no. Of course not.

Above all else, Shiro is his friend. It’s normal to not want to see your friend in pain. It’s healthy and good. It’s right.

It takes some maneuvering to get Shiro upright and outside. He keeps trying to help Keith gather kindling until Keith finally snaps at him. He doesn’t mean to get angry; he’s not angry. Maybe it’s just the stress showing. He apologizes immediately and Shiro shrugs it off, but stays put. It gives Keith a few minutes alone to walk around and gather everything. He stays in earshot and can feel the power of the lions hovering over, keeping Shiro safe.

And it’s weird and twitchy when he comes back. He doesn’t speak as he lights the fire, just focuses, rubs it gently to life and breathes the scent of the alien wood. Sort of nutty and comforting, different from Earth. Still, it reminds him of being a kid.

“You’re good at this,” Shiro says.

“Yeah,” Keith stares into the flames as they grow, basks in the heat against his face. “My dad taught me.”

Shiro hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t push. And it makes Keith feel stupid all of a sudden, like maybe he _wants_ Shiro to push. His sense of cool from earlier is fraying at the seams and there’s a lot going on his head. There’s something bursting inside, like he wants to talk about it, but doesn’t know where to start.

He steals a glance over to Shiro and wonders if this is the wrong time, anyway. Shiro has enough to worry about.

It’s one of those weird moments that still sneaks up on him sometimes, though. Out of nowhere. He sniffles and draws his knees up to his chest, stares stubbornly at the fire. But the thought is invasive and sudden, uninvited, looping over and over in his head.

 _I miss my dad_ , he thinks. And it’s a phrase that spins around and around.

It’s heavy in his throat and he thinks if he even tries to say it out loud, even if he wanted to, he might cry.

There was a while, back on Earth, after Shiro went missing, that thinking about Shiro felt like this, too. It was the same pit in his stomach, the same sense of grief. And the _sadness_ was one thing, its own thing, but sometimes the anxiety it gave him was the worst part. He couldn’t quantify what _forever_ meant, what _never gonna see him ever again_ meant, and the idea of facing the rest of his life alone was enough to shatter him into pieces.

And he’d felt all of this already, was the problem. Been over it after his dad and still went through it sometimes, still had bad days that came out of nowhere. When Shiro went missing he refused to let go; not because he truly believed Shiro was still out there, but because he selfishly didn’t think he could go through all of this shit again.

So for as often as he’s thought about death as an abstract, or faced it head-on with an actionable plan, sitting here with Shiro feels terrifying now. Death feels terrifying in a way it hadn’t before. It’s slow and drawn out, ugly. He doesn’t like how real it seems from here. It’s making him feel things he doesn’t wanna feel.

Shiro doesn’t look good. Scrapes on his face and he’s too ashy. His eyes are hooded like he’s struggling to stay awake. He’s fading, and it’s quiet and uncertain, and Keith can’t save him from this. He can’t fix it.

He hugs his knees closer in, clenches his jaw.

Maybe the grief didn’t stop when Shiro came back. It just turned into fear. His eyes are burning and he’s gonna blame the smoke if Shiro asks. And he feels like the biggest dickhead for wondering if it would be easier to handle if it would be sudden. Not like this, with this awful waiting. It’s magnifying the anxiety—not just the thought of going through his life without Shiro, but this sort of prologue to all of it. And he feels terrible that he might be squandering their last moments together by moping about it.

“You okay?” Shiro asks. It makes Keith’s skin bristle with irritation at himself; Shiro’s maybe dying and he’s still worrying. Get your shit together, Keith.

He sits up and tries to fake looking relaxed. Tries to smile. “Yeah. Sorry. Spaced out for a minute.”

Shiro opens his mouth to speak, but then flinches in pain, rubs his hand over his side for a moment. He lets it turn into a long pause, and keeps staring at Keith. Even with the light fading from his eyes and his expression going dull, he somehow manages to keep Keith magnetized.

“You were thinking about your dad,” Shiro says.

Keith stiffens. Chews his lip. “Sorta. Yeah.”

“You miss him.”

Apparently, near-death-Shiro is incredibly-blunt-Shiro. It doesn’t surprise him, really. Even healthy-Shiro has moments like this, though he’s usually a little gentler about it. More subtle. He’d always trick Keith into being honest, revealing something he’d meant to keep hidden. It’s so stupid because Shiro does it purely out of goodness, like he knows it’ll help. Keith sighs.

“Do we have to talk about this right now?”

Shiro smirks. He makes a lazy gesture up and down his body. “Sorry, did you wanna talk about how sexy this near-death experience is, instead?”

His cheeks flare with warmth but he laughs. “Fuck you.”

“That’s the idea, bud,” he says, and he winks with both fucking eyes. Keith groans.

He looks towards the fire again and feels the ache in his chest receding. This is how grief always is, these jags. He breathes deep to smooth it out. Sometimes he feels guilty as the pain drifts back off, like it’s disrespectful. Like he should want to keep the pain alive out of honor. He’d felt the same when it had come and gone with Shiro, too. He closes his eyes and rubs his hands up and down over his biceps to soothe himself through it.

“Seriously, though,” Shiro says, and it pulls him back into the moment. He blinks and looks over. Shiro’s smile is weak but sincere. “Thanks for saving me.”

There’s a million things he wants to say, destroying the inside of his heart, but he just nods. “You’d have done the same for me.”

Shiro almost says something but he shifts again, uncomfortable, the pain obvious on his face. Keith feels it in sympathy and fear; it’s cold in his fingertips, in his feet. Squirms in his belly.

“How’s your wound?” he asks.

“My wound’s great. It’s getting bigger all the time,” Shiro says. He’s trying to laugh but he wilts in the crossfire of Keith’s unamused deadpan. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Hang in there. When Allura and Coran find us they’ll fix you right up.”

It’s silent for a little while, Shiro’s pain heavy between them. The stress is starting to feel sharp in Keith’s chest; he’s antsy about it, doesn’t like not knowing what to do. Not being able to take action. His head is spinning with all the options, trying to figure out what can help, wondering if he should go inside and try communicating with the Lions again. His breath is getting faster, easing into a frenzy, when Shiro speaks again.

“Keith,” he says. “If I don’t make it out of here…”

What the fuck. He doesn’t even want to hear the rest of this sentence and almost interrupts, but he’s at a loss for words.

“…I want you to lead Voltron.”

Death is ugly and grief feels like fear. Keith tries to school his face, hide his reaction.

“Stop talking like that. You’re gonna make it.”

Shiro’s got that look as he puzzles over his words, like he’s about to drop a bomb, and Keith’s mind is already shutting down, recoiling him deep inside to somewhere safe as he waits for it. It’s gonna be some weird ugly truth that ruins everything and he can’t do this again. Can’t do this again. Can’t do this again.

_Don’t do this to me._

But help shows up before it happens.

He hears the pop of ozone, then sees the way the clouds part. He’s on his feet in an instant, heart thundering in his ears, and he’s never felt so relieved and so pissed off at the same time.

* * *

This time, Keith waits at the healing pod.

He thinks he’s being a little short with everyone when they get back, maybe territorial or something, but he’s stressed the fuck out. He helps Shiro to the med bay and helps him into the suit. He tells Allura to start calibrating the settings on the pod as he pulls Shiro into the triage room to get dressed. If she thinks he’s being weird about it, she doesn’t say anything. But Keith feels possessive for some reason, ready to get defensive.

Shiro can read it on his face and laughs at him about it once they’re in private.

“What, no one else is allowed to see me naked now?” he teases.

Keith blushes a little as he works at the buckles on Shiro’s suit. “You’re a dick.”

He knows, though, even as it’s happening, that it’s not like that. More like he feels responsible, like he needs to see this action through, make sure Shiro is safe. It’s the only thing he can think about—being this single-minded is the only thing keeping him together.

Maybe Shiro knows it, too, because he lets it go. Or maybe he’s in too much pain to keep being an asshole about it. Keith doesn’t care. He can’t look in Shiro’s eyes as he walks with him back out into the main room and helps him into the pod.

“Night, Keith,” Shiro mumbles as the glass slides closed. And he’s out almost instantly. Keith’s throat goes tight and he scolds himself for it, wondering why he can’t just accept it as a success. But he’s still nervous, can’t shake off the anxiety from before. What the fuck is the healing pod, anyway? Maybe it can’t fix what’s wrong.

He takes off for long enough for a quick shower and a change of clothes, and then he comes back, waits diligently by Shiro’s side. He sits on the floor, holds his knees to his chest. Tries not to fall apart.

He likes to think that he’s good at compartmentalizing, and maybe he is. But things never stay put away. It bubbles back up to the surface once it’s quiet, and he taps his foot, rubs at his arms. Tries to wait it out.

The others show up in the morning and he stands up, pretends he wasn’t obsessing, like he hasn’t been up all night. They hover around and he feels defensive again. He waits for someone to call him on it, to say he’s being weird, to say he didn’t do enough. But they’re quiet. They actually give him space.

There are better things to worry about but he can’t help wondering who else knows. He feels defensive about that, too. But his mind is probably just trying to maintain the tension, come up with any reason to feel uncomfortable. He grits his teeth and tries to ignore it.

His attention fades in and out as they all babble around him, as he stares up at Shiro, waiting and waiting. Everything from before keeps looping in his head.

 _If I don’t make it out of here…_ God. Fuck him for even saying it.

* * *

Shiro insists that he’s fine when he gets out but Keith only half believes him.

He knows that feeling, coming out of it. Buoyant and restored, uninjured and complete. Shiro is healthy again but he’s a little pale, and Keith knows it’s from whatever happened while he was under. Same happens to him when he’s in there. And his strength is back, he’s walking normal, but Keith escorts him back to his room, anyway.

They hover awkwardly around the doorway when they get there. Shiro scratches the back of his head.

“Um, well,” he looks up and down the hallway before looking back at Keith. “I guess I’m gonna shower.”

“Okay.”

“My skin feels gross.” Not surprising; the pod suit always feels a little weird after. Plus whatever might be going on with his wound.

“Yeah.” Keith’s hands fidget at his sides. “Okay, well—”

“You can come,” Shiro says over him. He stutters to a stop. His face scrunches for a second as they both go silent. “I mean, if you want to.”

Something aches in Keith’s chest. He does want to, and he nods, and they walk inside towards Shiro’s bathroom. It feels weird because he doesn’t think it’s about sex this time, but it’s hard to say. He lets Shiro lead the way, hangs back as they undress. Shiro seems shy now, hesitant, but he peels his clothes off first and heads into the shower stall, checks the temperature of the water.

His wound is healed over but there are scars. Flush to his body, unlike most of his others, but shiny with the new skin. Shiro is looking down at them and running his fingertips over the lines as Keith finishes undressing and comes in after him. The situation sort of reminds him of that other time in the shower, the night he’d almost been choked to death.

Maybe that’s why he reciprocates.

He comes in behind Shiro slowly, reaches around him for the shampoo. Shiro is already lathering the soap over his body, taking care around the new scars. Little scabs are flaking off with pieces of his flight suit that had stuck to him. Keith watches the way his shoulder blades flex and move as he does it, and he reaches up to start working the shampoo into Shiro’s hair.

“Was everything okay?” Keith asks. “Y’know, while you were under.”

Shiro slows for a second, then eases back into his movements. His posture goes tense, and Keith works his fingers over Shiro’s scalp, coaxing him to relax.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I was dreaming about… when they took me.”

The words stab into Keith’s spine. He has to focus to keep his movements slow, relaxed, to not react in anger. He takes a deep breath. The scent of the shampoo fills his head, and maybe Shiro isn’t clean enough yet because Keith can smell _him_ , too. The essence of it washes warmth over his body, feels good.

For a moment he leans closer, mouth open as he inhales, almost dizzy with it, but he stops himself. Shakes it off. Realizes he’s being a fucking creep and hopes Shiro didn’t notice. He swallows and watches the bubbles rising beneath his fingers, sees how they drip around his wrists.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Shiro runs his hands over his face and begins to tilt his head back. Keith lets go so that he can rinse out his hair.

“I don’t know. Not yet. It’s still too… I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

Shiro turns around and squints at him through the water. Keith’s heart thuds in his chest.

“I know I said it before,” Shiro starts to say. He watches Keith’s face for a reaction, uncharacteristically shy, and Keith can’t tell if he’s blushing or if it’s just from the warm water. “But, um. Thank you. Again. For saving me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Keith mumbles.

Shiro actually laughs, and it breaks the tension. He gives Keith a playful punch on the shoulder and then turns back to the water, grabs the conditioner. Keith had showered while Shiro was in the pod, but he takes the time to wash off again, maybe just out of habit. To give himself something to do. He steps forward to share the water, and they bathe side-by-side. It feels less weird than he expected. Sort of normal.

The lull settles in and Keith realizes he doesn’t know what the fuck they’re even doing anymore. Not sure if it’s normal for best friends to shower together but not sure if this is a sex thing, either. And Shiro really went through the fuckin ringer last night; he’s not sure he’ll still even be in the mood or if they’re exhausting their limits.

But _Keith_ wants it. He realizes it with a shudder. He still wants it, but it feels different now. The intensity of it is a little frightening.

He’s not paying attention when Shiro shuts the water off and combs his hair back with his fingers. He watches Keith for a moment, his face a mask. The silence is awkward.

“Did you want to…” Shiro’s mouth twists as he loses the words and he gestures towards the door into his room. He scratches at the back of his neck as he waits for the answer.

It’s unceremonious and decidedly un-sexy, but. Of course Keith wants to. He goes a little red as he nods, and turns away to grab towels. They don’t look at each other as they towel off and he wants _the moment_ to kick in already, the heat of it. Maybe last night had been too real, maybe it just left him feeling hurt. Who knows.

But Shiro takes him by the forearm, gently, and his hand is soft and warm from the shower as he pulls him inside. “Come here,” he says softly.

Keith allows himself to be steered towards Shiro’s bed, and Shiro eases him to sit down at the edge. The lights are dimmer in here than the bathroom, the same soft blue-green glow from the piping around the room that’s always in here. This is—how many times now?—that they’ve done this in Shiro’s room, and he thinks the lighting gives him a subliminal response. His stomach twists in arousal and apprehension, nervous and excited. 

A few times now, but it’s never been with their clothes completely off like this. Feels like crossing a line somehow.

So does the way Shiro kneels between Keith’s legs and leans in to kiss his stomach. He pushes Keith’s legs open and presses in close, blinks up at him in the dark.

“I’m sorry if I scared you before,” he says. He runs his hands up and down the tops of Keith’s thighs. Keith would almost be turned on if the apology didn’t make him so instantly uncomfortable. It twists in his stomach and he doesn’t know what to say.

Shiro’s eyes go dark and he leans down to lick over the head of Keith’s cock, not even all the way hard yet. He just does it once but he keeps eye contact. Lets the silence hang between them for a moment.

“I’ve been ready to die since I was fifteen,” he says. He licks his bottom lip and his human hand settles loosely around Keith’s dick. “And honestly I’ve felt like I’ve been on borrowed time since Kerberos, anyway.”

Keith hisses as Shiro begins to stroke him, coaxing the blood through. He presses his hands down to the mattress beside him, unsure of what else to do with his tension. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I just didn’t mean to freak you out. I know I’m casual about death sometimes,” he leans closer to Keith’s cockhead, breathes over it for a moment. “But I really appreciate you saving me. Honestly.”

“Shiro, you don’t—”

Whatever Keith thinks he’s going to say is cut off as Shiro bends forward to take Keith’s dick into his mouth. Keith’s hands flex, he’s not sure what to do with them. One bunches up Shiro’s blanket at the other hovers for a moment; it feels like instinct or muscle memory to grab the back of Shiro’s head, to pet through his hair and dictate the rhythm, but he loses his nerve at the last second. Not sure if it would be too much. He reaches up to cover his own mouth, instead, trying to hold in all the little noises threatening to pour out.

For a moment he braces himself for it to feel uncomfortable, the way he’s been doing every time with Shiro, wondering when it becomes too much. But this time, the honest truth is that he’s having his dick sucked too good to focus on any of that. It’s actually kind of funny, and he manages a choked out laugh. Shiro _would_ be good at giving head.

It reminds him of being in the Garrison again. He supposes it’s the value of hooking up with older guys. It’s in the way he moves his tongue, and the steadiness of the hand around Keith’s shaft, and the perfect amount of pressure, that it’s just messy enough to feel dirty without being too distracting. Fuck, Shiro.

There’s a moment where it comes to him as a vivid flashback. He remembers the dull shine of the walls in the Garrison dorms and the shitty cheap blankets, scratchy under his palms in this exact position. He hadn’t been thinking about Shiro like this back then, but infusing him into the old memories has him shuddering. It’s weird, because although it hadn’t been about sex, he’d been obsessed with Shiro back then. Obsessed with _pilot error_ and fucking officers to work through his bullshit. Not strictly about sex, but Shiro was sort of there for all of it, in spirit.

He imagines it, though. It’s so wrong. Dangerous and dark, but it feels good between his legs to think about. Shiro would’ve been so patient with him, taught him everything he knows.

He’s almost brave enough to reach out, to try to hold Shiro by the hair, or touch his shoulder, something. He kneads the blanket a few times as he works up the nerve, and right as he’s about to do it, Shiro pulls off. He takes a deep breath and looks up into Keith’s face, his hand still stroking up and down.

“Hey,” he says. It’s so relaxed and conversational that Keith wants to punch him in the face. Shiro wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did you still wanna have sex?”

Keith dick twitches and Shiro definitely notices. He looks down at it, then smirks back up at Keith.

“Is that a yes?”

“Uh,” Keith can’t help that he reaches to hold Shiro by the shoulder. His voice squeaks out, weak and high and he’s so fucking embarrassed. “Sure?”

His heart pounds in his chest as Shiro stares up at him. His Galra hand snakes around Keith’s thigh, slips beneath him and squeezes his ass.

“Do you think you can come twice?”

“I—” he gasps and rocks forward into Shiro’s hand. His chest is aching. “What?”

How is Shiro so calm about this? “I just think, y’know. Since it’s your first time. Maybe you’ll be more relaxed if you come first.”

Defenses flare up in his chest—he almost wants to correct Shiro, argue him that it’s _not_ his first time. But, fuck. _Fuck_. It sort of is. And the idea of it is so fucking hot. Why is it so fucking hot? His face feels warm and he nods his head.

“Yeah, that’s…” Shiro is already lowering his head back down to continue. “That’s a good idea.”

It takes a moment for him to settle back in, to try to let the carnal energy become soothing. He breathes deep through it, closes his eyes. He moans without meaning to. The Galra hand squeezes at his ass again, blooms red heat to blend through the pleasure, and he grabs for Shiro’s hair this time.

He’s gentle, not trying to take control of exert force. It’s just that he feels like he needs to hold onto something. He holds Shiro by the bangs, holds them away so that he can see Shiro’s face better. Shiro looks up at him without stopping, sucks his cheeks hollow and watches Keith. His eyelashes are thick and dark from here. Sort of pretty. It zings through Keith’s belly and he leans back, props himself up on his elbow.

They keep eye contact long enough that Keith gets squeamish. He drops himself down to lie flat on his back. Stares at the ceiling instead. He makes himself let go of Shiro’s hair, because it seems a touch too possessive, and throws his forearm over his eyes instead. He tries to stay still, to behave, but Shiro sucks hard at his cockhead and he rolls his hips forward out of instinct, fucking into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. He’s too embarrassed to look, just keeps his arm over his face. “Sorry.”

Shiro hums around his cock in acknowledgement but doesn’t stop. The Galra hand presses into the space below his navel, right over his pelvis, and pushes him down, holds him against the mattress. _Fuck_. Keith wiggles his hips out of instinct, just to test it, but Shiro is too strong.

It shouldn’t be so hot.

His breathing is getting louder and the blood is pounding in his ears when Shiro pulls off for a moment. His hand immediately takes up the slack, laying in full strokes, thumbing around his head when he can reach.

“Hey,” he says. Keith pushes up on his elbows again to look down at him.

He looks… cute?

No, not cute. Keith shakes the thought off.

But his eyes are glassy and his cheeks are pink. His hair is a little fucked up from where Keith was grabbing at it. And he supposes their age has always been relative; he’s always thought of Shiro as his older friend, but seeing him like this makes Keith remember how young they actually are. Even Shiro. He seems kind of boyish like this.

He clears his throat, not sure why Shiro expects him to have a conversation while he’s being jerked off. “What?”

“Can you reach under my pillow?”

He twists to look over his shoulder. And, yeah. Sure. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be looking for but he goes for it, and there’s a cold object under there. It takes a moment for his brain to piece together that it’s… lube. More space lube. Where the fuck does Shiro get it? Why is it under his pillow? He’d think harder about it but Shiro starts sucking him again and the thoughts leave his head. He reaches out blindly and Shiro takes it from him.

Even the sound of it rushes Keith towards the edge. The lid pops and then Shiro’s hand is gone, and Keith has to peek to watch the way he’s bobbing his head up and down, both his hands occupied with the lube. He hears the clicks as Shiro pumps it, but doesn’t see what he’s doing.

All of it feels a bit far away, unreal, until the metal hand comes around his thigh and pushes his legs further apart.

Shiro uses his human hand, his middle finger first. Keith throws his arm over his eyes again, doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want Shiro to see his face, and he bites his tongue to keep from saying anything stupid. With any luck he’ll keep all the undignified noises to himself.

The sensation is so vivid as Shiro presses in, and his efforts to stay quiet are shattered immediately as he takes an audible gasp for air. He rocks upwards into Shiro’s mouth again and feels the vibration as Shiro laughs a little. God, fuck him for laughing. Keith wants to be mad about it but he can’t focus, too distracted by how all of it feels. He thinks he’s been stubborn for the last few minutes, pretending to be aloof about it, because the way having something up his ass compliments the feeling of having his dick sucked is blowing his fuckin mind.

That urge sneaks up again and he knows they’ve crossed the threshold into _the moment._ It cages in around him and his thoughts are going blank. He just wants more. More and more. He almost says it out loud— _I want you to fuck me_ —but bites down again, stops himself.

Shiro adds another finger and the thoughts become more invasive. _Please fuck me. Please fuck me._ He hears it looping in his brain like a mantra and his legs begin to shake.

He knows there was some goal here for him to come before they have sex—to relax him or something?—but it still catches him by surprise when Shiro starts curling against his prostate. His eyes open and he arches off the bed, frantic. He grabs at Shiro’s hair again, pulling at him, not to exert control but because he feels it coming on so fast.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, Shiro, I’m gonna come I’m gonna come—”

He pushes Shiro back, away, because even in the haze of the moment he doesn’t want to come in his mouth or on his fucking face or something. He’s just coherent enough to wonder if Shiro will take it, anyway, because… Shiro seems like he’d do that. But he cooperates, leans back on his heels. He keeps massaging Keith’s prostate, relentless, and just watches as Keith grabs his own cock.

It’s embarrassing how fast he comes, just a few quick strokes and he’s splashing out over his stomach. He’s too fried to feel ashamed, though. Maybe in a little while when he calms down. But the orgasm is all he can really think about. His insides clench as he pulses through it, and he feels himself squeezing tight around Shiro’s fingers. God, it’s… it’s…

“Shit, Keith,” Shiro says softly. Keith looks at him as he pulls out, and he can’t see over the side of the bed, but the way Shiro’s Galra arm is moving and buzzing is very obvious. It sends an aftershock over Keith’s body and he shivers.

Keith grunts and blushes. He drops down onto his back and looks at the ceiling. “Don’t stare, you’re making it weird.”

Shiro chuckles and he’s shifting, standing. He kneels on the bed and taps Keith on the thigh.

“Come here,” he says. His hand curls around Keith’s bicep to drag him up the bed so that he’s not hanging over the edge anymore. The energy from his orgasm is still fluttering around Keith’s belly but repositioning sends a cramp of anxiety through it; properly lying in bed feels very real all of a sudden, like it’s really going to happen now. He doesn’t think it’s going to take long to get hard again, but he hopes he doesn’t lose his nerve while they’re waiting.

He tries to keep staring up at the ceiling but he can see Shiro moving in the corner of his eye. He’s jerking off, slowly. He’s lying on his side, watching Keith’s profile. It makes Keith’s mouth feel dry.

The point of getting him off was to make him relax, but he feels like he’s dangling out of the moment as it fades. His jaw goes tight and he wonders how the fuck they got here. For a second he worries that this thing they’re sharing is only good for one orgasm at a time, like maybe it’ll wear off.

He sneaks a glance over at Shiro, not sure if it’ll help. Curious how his body will respond. The faint light brings out a sheen on Shiro’s forehead. It’s dark enough that he can’t make out any of the color in Shiro’s eyes. His heart skips and a panicked jolt goes through his cock, not sure if it’s ready yet. He swallows.

… Positively. His body responds positively.

Shiro keeps stroking himself, slow and steady, just keeping himself hard.Every so often he tugs at his own nipple. He smiles and blows a strand of hair out his eyes.

“So you dated people at the Garrison after I left?”

He doesn’t mean to laugh so loud. He presses his fist to his mouth to hide his smile.

“I mean. I wouldn’t call it _dating_.”

“You’re an animal.”

“Please, Shiro,” his tension is receding. He rolls his shoulders. “You didn’t fuck around when you were my age?”

Keith knows Shiro pretty well. He knows the smile on his face is a product of his fatalistic sense of humor, a symptom of if-I-can’t-make-this-funny-it’ll-just-be-depressing. It’s a valiant effort at sweeping his hurt feelings under the rug as he laughs.

“When I was your age I was fucking Adam three times a day.”

Keith snorts. “Gross.”

“Anyway you say that like I’m ancient.”

“You are.”

Shiro reaches over with his free hand to shove Keith on the shoulder. “Fuck you. You’re not that much younger than me.”

“Whatever you say, Space Dad.”

He almost forgot that Shiro has been jerking off through this whole conversation until his breath hitches and he increases his speed for a few strokes until he relaxes again.A buzzing noise comes from his arm. He keeps eye contact through it, mouth parted slightly.

“Did you like me back then?” he asks.

Keith rolls his eyes but his cock twitches. “No. Don’t be gross.”

Shiro smiles. “You’re cute, Keith.”

Ugh. Keith shudders. He reaches between his legs and rubs over his dick. Not quite hard yet but feeling ready. Not too sensitive. “Did you like _me_?”

“No,” Shiro says, and he sounds genuinely disgusted. “Come on, you were a little kid.”

“You don’t think I’m a kid anymore?”

Shiro stares for a long moment but doesn’t answer. Finally just shakes his head. “No.”

His heart kicks up again and he tries to keep his breathing steady, doesn’t wanna give himself away. He swallows hard. That weird mix of excitement and fear surges up in him again and he thinks he should take advantage of the moment, take charge while he’s still feeling clear. He pumps at his cock a few times, takes a deep breath.

“Are you gonna fuck me or what?”

Shiro reaches to tousle Keith’s hair. “You’re a brat,” he says, but he’s rolling over, grabbing the lube from where they’d dropped it. Keith bites at one of his cuticles as he spreads his legs to make space. His face feels hot. Shiro is uncapping the bottle as he kneels between Keith’s thighs. He doesn’t look at Keith’s face, like he’s focused completely at the task at hand. He pours the lube directly onto his cock, then discards the bottle off to the side. His Galra hand strokes at himself to spread it and his human hand reaches to touch Keith’s hole again. It’s still slick from before, still soft. He presses two fingers inside without preamble and Keith arches up to meet him.

He curls his fingers to pet over Keith’s prostate and Keith lets go of his cock, wanting it to last this time. It throbs and drips as Shiro presses into him and he moans a little bit without meaning too.

“Come on,” he says. “Don’t tease me, come on.”

Shiro grunts and pulls out for a second, long enough to grab Keith by the thigh and pull him closer so that he’s propped up on Shiro’s lap. “I just wanna make sure you’re ready,” he says. His voice is strained, like he doesn’t wanna wait, either, but he’s keeping his shit together. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Keith wants to be bratty and impatient but he holds it back. Fuck Shiro for being so good. So fucking conscientious. He sighs and tries to settle back, tries to relax, but his whole body seizes up when Shiro pushes back in with three fingers. He squeezes his own nipple with his other hand.

“Jesus,” he mumbles, and squirms on Shiro’s fingers.

“You doing okay?”

He squeezes his legs, knees pressing into Shiro’s ribs, not sure what to even say. Shiro smirks.

“You like it?”

Fucking Shiro. “Yeah, I like it,” he wishes he sounded angrier, but his voice is needy and small. There’s an instinct to ask for it again but he’s too self-conscious to beg. It feels like more than horniness, though. It’s the nerves, too. He just wants it over with at this point.

“How many times have you done this to yourself?” Shiro whispers.

“You’re so creepy,” Keith grunts, to deflect, but his cock twitches and gives him away. Shiro raises an eyebrow.

“I thought you liked creeps.”

He rolls his eyes and doesn’t respond.

“Were you still a virgin when I left?”

“Oh my god. Why are you asking me this?”

The way Shiro rubs circles into Keith’s prostate is so fucking gentle it’s almost condescending. It gives him another flashback; not about sex, but about how Shiro used to baby him sometimes. How people teased him for being Shiro’s pet. Ugh.

“I’ve just been thinking,” Shiro says. It’s nonchalant, like an afterthought, like he doesn’t have three fingers inside Keith’s goddamn asshole. “We never really talked about sex back then. I feel bad that I didn’t bring it up with you.”

Keith tries to keep the waver out of his voice, mimic Shiro’s calm. “It wasn’t your job to.”

“Then whose was it?”

Jesus Christ. Keith isn’t going to answer.

He digs his heels into the mattress for leverage, tries to rock himself down. Shiro moves his fingers and the _stretch_ shoots straight up Keith’s spine. He whines without meaning to.

“Come on, Shiro,” he reaches out to grab something, anything, and his hands meet Shiro’s thighs, right under his own. Warm and hard and he doesn’t want to think about it too much. He’s never been with a guy like Shiro before. Maybe a few months ago he would’ve said that Shiro wasn’t his type.

But fuck. He was wrong.

“You’re impatient,” Shiro muses, and Keith almost panics that he’s gonna draw it out even longer, but he starts pulling back. His fingers come out and he runs his fingertips in a circle around Keith’s wet hole, as if appraising it, but he finally inches forward. He stares down into Keith’s face and strokes his own cock a few more times. Keith has to focus on how fucking horny he is so that the scrutiny doesn’t make him uncomfortable.

And then it’s happening.

At first all Keith can even comprehend is the _size_. He gasps and digs his fingers into the meat of Shiro’s thighs. The only thing he can feel is the way he’s being split open, like the rest of his body and his other senses are all on mute. Something nags in the back of his mind that maybe he should’ve been more patient, maybe not so stubborn, maybe should’ve let Shiro prep him more because it fucking hurts. It’s flashing red pain searing down the insides of his legs, up through his chest, tingling at the fucking roots of his hair. His mouth opens, wordless, and he wants to make a sound but all that comes out is a strangled little squeak.

“This… sounds weird,” Shiro says, and he’s got a crooked half-grin, sympathetic and sweet, “but try bearing down? It’ll help. Try to relax.”

Shiro holds him by the hips and his thumbs reach out to stroke over his skin, soothing and gentle and he continues to sink in. Keith feels stupid but follows his advice. And it does feel weird. All of this is fucking weird. But it helps.

“You okay?” he asks.

Keith wishes he’d stop asking that. Like, every fucking time they mess around with the checking in all the time. On some level he appreciates it and it’s good to know that Shiro isn’t an asshole—it’s a bone-deep instinct that he wouldn’t be, but always good to know for sure—but it makes Keith feel stubborn and defensive. He’s not fragile, he’s not gonna break.

He breathes slowly and it makes the pain blend out into something nice. He eases his grip on Shiro’s legs.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he says. Shiro raises an eyebrow.

“You sure?”

The blunt head of Shiro’s dick nudges into Keith’s prostate right as he’s about to answer and he cries out, instead. His nails dig into Shiro’s skin.

“Fuck,” he whines. “Fuck, Shiro. Right there. _Fuck._ Please.”

Shiro pets up and down Keith’s sides as he gives a little thrust, gentle and slow. He seems to zero in on all the right spots, watching Keith’s face for hints as he goes. God, he _would_ be like this in bed, wouldn’t he? This attentive, this good. Keith would roll his eyes if he had any capacity for sarcasm but it’s being stripped away from him.

He looks down to where they’re connected, wondering if he’ll be able to see. It’s a weird angle but Shiro isn’t even all the way in, Keith can tell that much. And there’s a moment of panic, wondering how he’s even going to be able to take it all, but right as he’s thinking it and feeling the stretch again, Shiro moans.

“Jesus Christ you’re so fuckin tight,” he breathes.

Why is that so fucking hot?

It’s an affirmation of the exact thought Keith was having but changes the context. It feels like praise and it washes over Keith’s skin. _Yes, yes, yes_ , something inside tells him. And like that, his body lets go. It stops hurting and he _wants_. His eyes flutter closed and his head falls back against the bed, and every inch of Shiro inside him feels like bliss. That Shiro is pleased with him locks it all into place.

His body relaxes. The muscles in his legs unclench and he moves to hook his ankles behind Shiro’s back. Shiro fucks in and out of him a few times, still gentle but getting a little faster.

“You’re scratching me,” Shiro says. It’s a mild reprimand; he’s grinning as he says it, breathing hard as he continues to roll his hips. And it’s weird the way a reprimand curls through Keith’s body the same way the praise did. He shudders but just digs his nails in harder. Shiro flinches, but then laughs. He grabs Keith by the wrists and Keith’s fingers go lax.

“Sorry,” he says. He balls his hands into fists, not sure what to do with himself. Digs his nails into his own palms, instead. “I didn’t mean to, I’m… I’m…”

Shiro tugs and suddenly he’s leaning forward, bent over Keith’s body. He pins Keith’s wrists to the mattress above his head and the motion of it has their chests pressing together, skin on skin. Keith rolls up into it to feel more, liking the heat, the slight damp, the way his nipples brush against Shiro’s body.

He sort of remembers liking this with others, when he was on top. But Shiro locking him in like this feels so overpowering, overwhelming, and it’s new. He’d have never let someone else do this to him and it’s thrilling and embarrassing how much he fucking likes it. Shiro’s _weight_ on him makes the whole thing different.

Shiro fucks into him hard and squeezes around his wrists. Keith wiggles to test him, to see how strong the hold is, even as he realizes he has no intention to break free. Just wants to know. Shiro’s living bicep flexes as he holds him down in place and Keith makes a noise at how utterly fucking owned he feels.

The human hand is strong, anyway. Shiro is a strong guy. But the metal of the prosthetic is so obviously unnatural. Keith wonders if his bones are grinding together, if he’ll have a bruise. Fuck, he hopes so.

Wait. What?

He’s blinking up the ceiling, trying not to look Shiro in the face, caught between this desire to let go and enjoy the moment and being completely freaked out by how perfect all of it is. He feels Shiro’s breath on his throat, then his lips, and it burns all over his body as Shiro sucks on his pulse. God, fuck him. Maybe they should’ve talked about rules or something beforehand, because this feels like it’s too much.

Keith could get attached to this. That’s bad. This is bad. He tries to remember how to compartmentalize but can’t remember what he’s supposed to be compartmentalizing. Not sure if he’s trying to make this less amazing than it is or just force himself to worry about all of it later.

Don’t make it weird.

“Fuck, Keith,” Shiro whispers. He nuzzles against the side of Keith’s neck. “You feel so good.”

It’s not a particularly dirty thing to say but he shakes beneath the words, anyway. His dick jumps, trapped between their two bodies, and he takes a moment to enjoy the friction as he ruts against Shiro’s abs.

“Fuck me harder,” he says in response. Maybe he’s being a rebel or something, who knows. He means it, though.

Shiro laughs and leans back to look over Keith’s face, and Keith is still trying to avoid him but he can feel the weight of it anyway. He sees it in the corner of his eye, the way Shiro is hovering, waiting there for him to look back. But if he does that…

“Are you sure you never bottomed before?” he asks. There’s a note of amusement in his voice, tangled through the arousal as his grip goes tighter on Keith’s wrists and he slams in. He pulls almost all the way out to punch back in, over and over. Harder. Keith turns his head to the side as if it will help him avoid the way Shiro is staring at him, but it only makes it worse. Shiro talks low, right into Keith’s ear, and it reverberates through his whole body. The hair raises on his arms and he feels it in his feet, his nipples, his balls. “You seem like you were made for it.”

“Hnngh—”

Shiro chuckles and shifts. The grip of his human hand releases and he pins both of Keith’s wrists with the prosthesis. His skin is clammy as he grips tight on Keith’s shoulder, pulling him for leverage as he fucks hard.

“Keith,” he says. Keith’s legs tighten around Shiro’s waist. Shiro kisses the corner of his jaw. “Keith, hey. Look at me?”

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to. He even shakes his head against the bed, without realizing he’s doing it. He shuts his eyes.

Shiro massages him on the shoulder like he’s checking in and it feels so goddamn good. He has no right to be this good.

“Do I have to order you?” he whispers. “As your CO?”

“Shiro…”

He slows down, almost stops. Keith tries to roll his hips to keep the motion going but he’s at such a bad angle and can’t quite get it.

“Keith. Look at me.”

Well. Okay, he does want to. Not wanting to is out of context. He wants to. The pressure on his wrist eases; Shiro is still pinning him down but it’s a suggestion now, not as much of a force. He rolls his hips gently, noses against Keith’s hair.

“Come on,” his voice rings in Keith’s ear, so direct and close. “You can do it.”

Fuck him. Pleasure floods through Keith’s body again and he sighs, takes a second to collect himself, and finally looks.

It’s a lot, being this close. It’s still too dark to see Shiro’s eyes very well, but he still finds himself collapsing into it. And Keith knows Shiro pretty well but never had to see this side of him before. Something in him wants to resist—it’s his own instinct for self-preservation, defenses curling around him, beginning him to draw inside. But it’s hard. Shiro is depthless, Shiro feels safe. Keith’s mouth hangs open and he can’t look away and Shiro starts moving, faster this time. The hold on his wrists goes tight again.

“There you are,” he says. He’s smiling like it’s no big deal, like they’re having fun. And Keith tries to breathe through it, writhes beneath him, wonders if he can turn it off and have fun, too. It should be fun.

It’s hard having Shiro’s face so close. If it were anyone else he’d be leaning in to kiss, because it’s what his body wants, it’s part of the process. But he thinks they’ll be pushing a boundary and he doesn’t know if it’s a good idea.

“How is it?” Shiro asks. His free hand pets down Keith’s chest, plays with a nipple for a moment before lowering between them to wrap around Keith’s cock. Keith arches against it, whines out loud. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be focusing on.

“It’s good,” he pants. “It’s good. Keep going.”

Shiro is still smiling, amused, and he licks his lips. “Do you wish you’d done this sooner?”

It’s a weird question, because… honestly, he didn’t know it would feel this good. He wraps his legs tighter around Shiro’s body, rides the bounce of Shiro’s cock, and something about it feels completely natural, like he should’ve been doing this the whole time. But he watches Shiro’s face, and it’s so intense he wants to look away. Something about waiting feels right, too. He can’t imagine his first time being with anyone _except_ Shiro. This makes sense.

But he doesn’t want to say all that. Instead, he blushes and whimpers and doesn’t answer the question.

Shiro doesn’t push, though. He accepts the non-answer with a snap of his hips and a knowing grin. And he leans in and kisses Keith on the temple, over his sweaty hair.

“You’re kinda beautiful,” he says quietly.

All of his blood is at the surface of his skin already but he feels it _burn_ at the tips of his ears. Shiro jerks his cock a few times and then lets him go, touches him beneath the jaw. Holds him there as he leans in.

And they’re kissing again.

This time, Keith makes little noises and Shiro swallows them. He closes his eyes and feels Shiro’s lashes on his cheek. The Galra hand goes loose and Keith slips out of his grasp, wraps his arms around Shiro’s shoulders instead. His nails still dig in and maybe he can’t help it. Shiro’s back is damp with sweat.

He’s a good kisser.

Maybe Keith was too freaked out the first time to really pay attention to that part. But he’s a good kisser. And Keith likes how it feels, soothing the intensity of everything else. Slow and patient, soft. Shiro’s fingertips stroke over Keith’s jaw as they work through it and it still feels weird but he kinda likes it.

Shiro pulls off for air, and he reaches the Galra hand down to hold Keith by the thigh, hooking his leg up on his forearm and changing he angle. Keith cries out as it crashes through his body and Shiro leans in to kiss him again, muffling the sound. Keith’s voice hums between them and he claws at Shiro’s back, slides his hands down to squeeze at his ass.

“Fuck,” Shiro mumbles when he pulls away. He kisses Keith’s temple again and plants his human hand flat to the mattress next to his head, holds himself up and stares down into Keith’s face.

It’s too much. Keith feels like he’s going to shake apart in his own body and isn’t sure if it’s in a good way. He puts a hand on Shiro’s chest and can feel his heart pounding, holds him at arms’ length just to put some space between them.

It takes a moment to catch his breath, to remember how to speak. His voice cracks and strains, follows the cadence of Shiro’s rhythm as he tries to squeeze the words out.

“S-Shiro,” he stutters. “Shiro.”

“What?”

A hard thrust has him seeing stars behind his eyes and he does his best to focus on what he was trying to say.

“Turn me over?” 

Shiro narrows his eyes, studies him for a moment. Keith doesn’t want to have to worry about it, doesn’t want the apprehension of wondering if his request will be denied. _Do it, do it, please_ , he’s begging inside.

And he knows he asked for it, but he’s so fucking offended when Shiro pulls out. His body doesn’t like being empty and instantly wants Shiro back. But strong hands are on his hips and his brain can’t catch up as he’s being flipped over. He’s weightless for a moment and the adrenaline spikes in his sides. He sees the ceiling, then the pillows, and it knocks the breath out of him as he lands on his chest.

No one’s ever man-handled him like this.

Well, not in bed.

His cock strains, digs into the mattress, and he pushes up onto his hands and knees. Tries to balance.

Shiro’s human hand takes him by the hip as the other guides the head of his cock to the open gape of Keith’s hole, and there’s no finesse this time. He slams back inside and the prosthesis crushes in hard on Keith’s other hipbone. His skin pinches between the plates of his fingers.

He thinks he cries out, some litany of curses that he isn’t even aware of. It’s good. It’s so good. He feels stupid that he waited so long.

Shiro grunts and _pulls_ him, impales him, bruises the tender skin beneath the Galra hand and Keith wants it. Needs it.

He didn’t know sex could feel like this.

“Like this?” Shiro asks.

“Yes. _Yes_.”

He bows his head, leans his face into the pillow. He’s louder now, and something inside him knows it’s the position, that it makes him feel fucking used and he craves it for some reason. But it’s the darkness, too, the way he’s able to hide this way. It’s easier. He relaxes. It lets him focus on the feeling in his body and he lets go, lets it take over.

When he breathes he can smell Shiro again. His hair from the pillow. It fills his lungs, takes up all the space he can feel in his body. He reaches to touch himself, squeezes around the base of his shaft for a second to try to focus.

“I’m gonna come,” he tries to say, and the way Shiro rails him cracks the syllables apart.

“Fuck yeah,” Shiro breathes. He folds himself down over Keith’s body, lets his teeth graze over the knob on the top of his spine. It makes chills break out over Keith’s skin. “You like getting fucked?”

“Shiro-o—” it’s supposed to sound like he’s annoyed and that Shiro is fucking lame for saying it, but has the opposite effect. He might be drooling onto the pillow. Shiro kisses the side of his neck and sucks on his skin for a moment and Keith hates how amazing it feels.

“Do it,” Shiro says. He sits back up and the air is cold on Keith’s skin. He holds Keith tight and his pace goes brutal. “Me too, me too.”

It’s intense and almost violent, and he doesn’t fully understand why it feels as good as it does. It’s different from how he’d fingered himself and different from when he’d come on Shiro’s lap in Black’s cockpit. His body feels so full and stretched open and he didn’t know it would feel this good. He jerks himself off, nearly frantic, wailing into the pillow as it happens. His body convulses and he feels how the cum is going everywhere. Having Shiro’s dick in his ass as he orgasms has him clawing at the sheets. He squeezes around Shiro’s cock, feeling too tight and not tight enough for a moment, head spinning as he wrings the last of it out of himself.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god,” he’s babbling. Shiro pets him over his lower back to see him through it, doesn’t let up the pace, keeps nailing him right where it’s good.

“Keith,” he says, and he’s straining to be casual, Keith hears it in his voice. His ears are still ringing and he doesn’t answer. Shiro’s thrusts falter for a moment and he sounds more urgent when he tries again. More firm. “Keith.”

“What?”

“Where do you want me to come?”

God. Keith’s mind bends around the question. He’s asked partners that before. Usually it’s barely genuine, mostly just a ploy to get them to say something slutty. Keith has an aftershock of his orgasm and knows he’s going to fall right into the trap.

“In me,” he moans. He lets go of his own cock and grabs a fistful of blanket. And he knows he’s saying it to be slutty but fuck if he doesn’t mean it.He’s still riding the high of being filled and he wants it so fucking bad. “Come inside me.”

There’s more he wants to say, weird dirty thoughts rushing through his mind, but he has enough control to keep it to himself.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Shiro is saying, and then he’s grunting and Keith _feels_ it in his body. Warm in his insides and almost making him nauseous. He presses a hand to his belly as if he’d be able to feel the swell of it there. Shiro’s fingers hook into his hipbones hard enough that he almost considers tapping out, but he eases back right as it’s becoming too much. He thrusts a few more times, slowing down and riding it out, and he’s panting when he finally pulls out.

The cum leaks out, down Keith’s thigh, and it’s so fucking gross and hot and embarrassing and Keith doesn’t think he can turn over and look Shiro in the face.

He keeps his eyes closed and breathes deep, focuses on the lingering pleasure in his body, like it’s the blood pumping through his veins. Reminds himself to relax and enjoy it, don’t make it weird. It’s not weird.

It’s good.

Shiro’s left hand splays out on the small of Keith’s back as he drops down onto his stomach. Neither of them say anything but he knows it’s Shiro’s way of checking on him. He breathes evenly and hopes it’s enough of a signal that he’s okay. He’s wet between the legs and dripping Shiro’s cum from his body and in a few minutes when the haze wears off he’s gonna think it’s fucking disgusting but for now it feels really good. 

When Shiro seems satisfied, he flops down on the bed, too. Keith has to collect himself for a moment before he turns his head to look.

Shiro’s hair looks ridiculous and his chest is blotchy red but he seems happy enough. And that’s reassuring. It helps Keith settle back in. He’s not sure if it’s because he just got fucked real good, but laying together like this feels… sort of normal. Less weird than he expected.

This is okay.

But the silence is starting to feel itchy and he shifts. He tries not to be too obvious about the way he reaches between his legs and touches his hole, feels the mess for himself. Shiro is kind enough not to say anything, even if he’s paying attention. He wonders if Shiro had taken a second to watch the cum drip out like a porno.

“I wonder if we should’ve used a condom,” Keith says. He waits for Shiro to look over at him before he delivers the punchline. “You’re fuckin shady, should I have not let you come in me?”

Shiro rolls his eyes and hits Keith with a pillow. “You’re one to talk.”

They both laugh and it dispels some of the heaviness, sets them a little closer back to normal. Shiro rubs his eyes.

“I mean, to be honest, I’m sure if you had anything from Earth the healing pods took care of it.”

“Probably.”

The silence is comfortable again as they lie back and calm down. Their breathing evens out. The air in the room is heavy and humid with sex. Keith thinks that it’ll be shocking in a little while, maybe when he’s back in his own room. It’ll be bouncing around the inside of his head that they’ve just did this. _You fucked Shiro._ Or, to put a finer point on it: _Shiro fucked you_.

It curls in his stomach but doesn’t feel bad. He breathes through his nose, closes his eyes.

“Hey, Shiro?” With the darkness he feels calm and safe and the words spill out of his mouth before he realizes he’s even thinking it. “Are you still sick?”

Shiro’s arm whirs, and Keith doesn’t look but he imagines that Shiro must be flexing it, wiggling the fingers, thinking about it. Keith does his best to focus on how relaxed he feels, to avoid how much it makes him worry. He’d always sort of taken Shiro’s illness in stride; figured they’d deal with it when it was time to deal with it, but he’s feeling incredibly mortal right now. Maybe he was never really brave enough to look it in the face before, unwilling to accept it.

“I don’t think so,” Shiro finally answers.

“Do you think the healing pod fixed it?”

Shiro is silent for a moment, then Keith hears him rolling onto his side. He’s not looking but he can feel Shiro staring. There’s a moment where he resists, until it’s uncomfortable, and he finally opens his eyes. Looks back.

He’s concentrating, thinking hard. His eyes are stormy.

“I think the Galra cured me,” he says softly.

Fuck, Shiro.

“I was having this dream, in the pod,” he says. He holds his Galra hand up in front of his face, turns it so that it gleams in the light. “But I don’t think it was a dream.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I remembered some stuff.” His brow creases and his eyes go distant. “Someone helped me.”

He stays quiet, tries to give Shiro space with it. He doesn’t like look on Shiro’s face, doesn’t like seeing him stripped down like this. _Vulnerable_.

Not for the reasons that Keith doesn’t like to be vulnerable. He just… doesn’t like how it makes him feel, watching Shiro hurt like this. He selfishly doesn’t even want Shiro to remember too much; maybe his memory loss is protecting him.

“Anyway,” Shiro says after a moment. He inhales through his nose and shakes it off, sits up like nothing happened. He rubs one of his eyes. “I think I have to shower again.”

It seems practiced, the way Shiro snaps his persona back into place like that. He goes from pensive and lost to relaxed and confident in an instant. It’s the Shiro everyone else knows, that they expect. It throws Keith’s world off kilter.

Shiro stands and stretches. His back pops. He looks down at Keith, still sprawled on the bed, and doesn’t hide how he scratches his fucking balls.

“You’re so gross,” Keith mumbles, and he sits up, too. Shiro just laughs, but then he turns and goes back into his bathroom.

Keith follows and stands in the doorway, watches as he fusses with the weird Altean faucets.

“I’m gonna… go to bed,” Keith says, and lazily points over his shoulder towards the door. He’s gonna shower too, and maybe jerk off, and maybe panic for a little while about whether or not he’s ruining his relationship with the only person in his life that matters. _Going to bed_ is a figure of speech at this point. Sleeping is something else.

Shiro stares for a moment but doesn’t say anything. He gives Keith a half-smile, and Keith worries for a second that he’s hurt Shiro somehow, but there’s so much fondness in his face. It seems like permission, like ease, like it’s not a big deal. He nods, then continues what he was doing. He goes into the cabinet for his toothbrush as Keith scrambles to find his clothes on the floor from earlier.

His legs still feel rubbery as he bends to pull on his boots. His groin feels strained and he wonders if he should stretch more. He wonders how fast he can get back to his room and bathe before Shiro’s cum leaks out of his goddamn body and ruins his clothes.

Shiro is still brushing his teeth when Keith finally goes to leave. He looks out into the bedroom again, into the dark, and even from here he can make out how bad they fucked up Shiro’s blankets. They’re all rumpled, bunched up in the center, his sheets are popping off the corner of the mattress. His cum is a dark stain right in the middle of everything.

“Your bed is a mess,” he says.

Shiro spits into the sink and chuckles. “Yeah, well. I just fucked a hot twink in it.”

Keith’s face turns red. “Oh my god. I’m not a twink.”

“Keith, please.”

He rolls his eyes and wonders why the fuck he gets so worked up about Shiro, of all people. He looks at him one more time, sees him bending down to rinse his mouth directly out of the faucet.

“Bye,” he snaps. “I’m leaving. I’m not a twink.”

“Whatever you say, Space Baby.”

Jesus.

“I hate you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and support so far!!!!!!!! I'M SO MOTIVATED YOUGUYS. I'll reply to them next time I have good wifi in port. =P 
> 
> [anyway here's another link to twitter in case you missed the first 200](https://twitter.com/kacyinthecosmos/status/1173523883288383488)


	7. Automatic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spot the _Fire in the Sky_ reference and scream at me in the comments about alien trauma. ugh Shiro makes me emotional.
> 
> anyway this took a long time to write and could've been two chapters because i got away from myself but I was too obsessed with squashing everything into my original outline i ! smashed! it! all! together!

_the trip for a million miles_  
_nintey-three to the sun_  
_take your place_  
_and you say goodbye_  
_it's automatic_  
_you're the one_

* * *

Keith is still awake when he hears a ping coming from his datapad. It’s wedged between the mattress and the wall and he’s blushing as he sits up and wipes cum off his hand with his t-shirt, then paws through his blankets to look for it. It pings again as he uncovers it.

Shiro doesn’t use the text feature very often. He likes using the castle’s pager system, likes to buzz into people’s rooms and command them to come meet him somewhere, or he’ll call and have a fifteen second conversation to ask a question. Texting is unusual. Keith crosses his legs and holds the datapad in his lap as he unlocks it.

His heart is still pounding and his skin feels a little sweaty from jerking off. And he feels bad about it when he sees Shiro’s messages.

 _Hey_. the first one says.

_Are you still awake?_

He checks the clock and tries to remember what time he came back to his room, how long it’s been since they fucked. A few hours, and he’d assumed that Shiro had gone right to bed. Keith had showered and laid awake for a while, jerked off. Stared at the ceiling some more and jerked off again. Played with his asshole and thought about what had happened. Couldn’t sleep.

And these messages now. He can picture Shiro in the dark, tentative, texting instead of calling because he’s too fucking polite and doesn’t want to wake anyone up. Keith rolls his eyes, even as it hurts in his chest a little.

 _yeah_ , he texts back.

It seems a little silly to be texting when they’re down the hall from each other; literally a ten second walk, but he settles in, wonders what Shiro wants. He sees the way the window shimmers to imply that Shiro is typing. It starts and stops a few times. Keith leans back against his pillows and watches it.

_I was thinking about what happened._

Fucking great. Keith’s heart skips and he presses his knuckles to his mouth as he waits. Shiro is typing for a long time. Maybe it’s selfish to assume it’s going to be bad, selfish to assume it’s even _about him_ , but his mind is already filing the possible responses, preparing for some type of rejection. He thinks about how, just a few hours ago, he’d whined _Come inside me_ and his face burns in shame. The whole evening flashes through his mind in a burst and he wonders if he did something wrong, wonders if he was gross, too weird. Tries to tell himself it’s not a big deal if they’re at the end of the line, if Shiro doesn’t wanna do this anymore. He promises he’ll be cool about it. It’s not a big deal.

But it’s not that at all.

_I’ve been lying here trying to make sense of everything. My brain is a fucking mess. But I think Zarkon was the original Black Paladin?_

Keith sits up straight again and reads over the message a few times. Before he can respond, Shiro keeps talking.

_After we crashed I didn’t really make time to think about it, and then I was having all these crazy dreams in the healing pod, but I’m starting to get everything organized. Do you think it’s crazy?_

_no,_ Keith types back immediately. _it kinda makes sense_

He thinks back to the day they flew to Laztana, how he could feel the pull of Black and Shiro’s connection from inside the cockpit. He remembers feeling it when he’d piloted her, even for a few minutes, felt her loyalty to Shiro, even as she conceded to Keith’s command.

 _could you feel him thru black. ?_ he adds.

Shiro doesn’t answer right away. It doesn’t look like he’s typing, either. Keith wonders if he fell asleep. Wonders if he should go check.

 _Yeah, it was strong_ , he says after a while. _I think she likes him more than me lol_

Keith smirks down at the screen. _maybe he just knows her better_ , he replies.

 _Yeah, maybe_.

It looks like Shiro is going to say something else, but he stops typing. Keith taps his fingertips on the edge of the glass, impatient, and chews at his lip until it bleeds. A few minutes go by and he can’t take the silence anymore.

 _u ok ?_ he asks.

_Yeah, sorry. I just thought it might help to tell someone._

_did it?_

_I think so. Seeing it all spelled out is helping me organize myself._

Keith smiles. He sucks on his bleeding lip. His fingers go rigid as he contemplates another text, because he wants to ask when Shiro is gonna tell everyone. But he thinks better of it. Shiro doesn’t need that right now. He just wants to talk.

The datapad buzzes in Keith’s hands and he watches the next message pop up.

_Fucked up couple days, huh? ;)_

_wtf else is new lol_

He laughs softly and eases back down into bed, propping the datapad up on his thighs to watch for a response. There’s another _lol_ and then silence for a while. He wonders again if Shiro fell asleep. Even though he’s enjoying the company, he hopes Shiro is getting some sleep. It’s actually helping ease his own nerves, funny enough. He’s almost dozing off, himself, when another message comes through.

_So remember I told you I think I remembered some stuff?_

_yea_

The screen shimmers, then stops. Cycles through a few times. Keith rubs his eyes.

_There have been all these little things the last few months that kinda pop up. Like fragments? I get these little ideas or, idk, visions maybe? But they come and go so fast and I don’t have the time to figure it out? And I keep thinking that if I focus hard enough that I’ll remember more and it’ll make sense, but part of me also doesn’t want to know. And it makes me feel really selfish. Like I’ll remember something about the amputation and then I put the rest of it out of my mind because it’s just… too much._

Keith swallows hard and his fingers dance across the surface of the screen, unsure what to say. Shiro’s never really used that word for it before, never acknowledged it that way. _Amputation_. Fuck. He scrambles for a response but Shiro continues before he figures one out.

_And then I had that dream in the pod, right? And I’ve been going over and over it in my head and I know it’s real. And I can’t stop thinking that I’ve been endangering all of us by not remembering it sooner._

It gives Keith the chills. He starts tapping a message out, defensive. _come on dude dont say that._ There’s more he wants to say. Worlds more. But he doesn’t even know where to start.

 _Someone helped me escape,_ Shiro says, before Keith gets it out. _He uploaded something in my arm. I’m gonna ask Pidge to look at it first thing in the morning. This could be huge and I can’t believe I wasted so much time when we had a clue right here all along._

Keith hovers over the call button, ready to talk some sense into him. He debates getting out of bed and just stalking down the hall to Shiro’s room to say it to his face. Instead, he takes a deep breath. Tries to focus.

_are u sure you’re ok? want me to come over?_

There’s a beat of silence after the read receipt, and he’s almost sitting up, almost going for it.

But finally: _No, I’m fine. :) I promise. You should go back to bed._

“Back to bed,” he mumbles out loud. It makes him chuckle.

_you didn’t think i was asleep did u?_

_No,_ Shiro answers. _I guess not. You’re not beating up the robots again are you?_

_beating something ;)_

He curls onto his side and props the datapad up against the wall, watches the cool blue shades of the text window.

 _Jesus, Keith. Really?_ There’s a pause as Keith tries to decide a response, but Shiro continues. _Didn’t I get you off *twice* ? You’re completely demonic._

 _hey_ , Keith says, typing awkwardly from his side. _im a growing boy._

* * *

There are two things that afternoon that Keith finds especially jarring.

The first is watching Pidge thread leads into the opening at Shiro’s prosthetic wrist; Keith knows it’s an illusion, that he’s anthropomorphizing to an extent, but there’s something all together surgical about it that makes him squeamish. Shiro’s face is cold and rigid, focused, but he flinches as Pidge clicks into the port, and Keith wonders if he can feel it. He’s fascinated and curious but doesn’t think he’ll ask about it.

The other is the anger that radiates off Shiro a few minutes later as he finally loses his composure.

“Are you sure this wasn’t just a dream?” Pidge asks, and Keith can practically see the blood beneath Shiro’s skin as he tries to keep his cool.

“I’m positive,” he says. His jaw works side-to-side for a moment. “Someone helped me escape.”

“And he was Galra?” Allura asks.

“ _Yes_.”

Shiro isn’t quick to anger, it’s one of the first things Keith learned about him. It’s one of the first things _everyone_ learns about him. In fact, it contributed to Keith thinking he was kind of a loser when they first met, when Keith’s own temper was still such a huge part of his identity.

The pitch of his voice and absolutely alien look of hostility in his eyes makes the hair rise on Keith’s arms.

“You know you cannot trust them,” Allura says, and Keith winces. It’s the wrong thing to say, and he feels waves of sympathy-discomfort roll through his body as Shiro’s face goes completely icy.

“Your father must have trusted them once,” he hisses. “Zarkon _was_ the original Black Paladin, wasn’t he?”

Allura looks like she’s been caught in a lie. She hesitates and looks around at everyone for a moment, fumbling around the words. “That was a long time ago.”

Then there’s Lance, always the last one to catch on. “Wait, what?” he squawks. It makes Keith cringe; the awkward way they’re all sort of intruding on this moment between Shiro and Allura. They haven’t looked away from each other and he can _see_ the rage bubbling up beneath the surface, though Shiro is keeping it carefully contained.

The others watch in tense silence, like they’re not sure who to believe. It springs Keith into action, stokes his defenses.

“Didn’t you see how he stole the Black Lion right out from Shiro?” he asks. It takes the attention away from the standoff and he grinds his teeth. “Or that he could do all that cool stuff with his Bayard? _Shiro’s_ Bayard? You know, the black one?”

Some of the tension leaves Shiro’s shoulders. He looks down to at the wires coming from his arm, then glances over Pidge’s screen, even though no one else can make sense of what it says. Pidge is barely paying attention to anyone in the room, totally absorbed in the lines of code.

“Why didn’t you just tell us the truth about Zarkon?” Shiro asks.

Allura relaxes, too. It’s the natural response to their impasse, but when she speaks again she sounds genuinely apologetic. “I wanted to protect you from the dark history of the paladins so that you would have a chance to bond with your lions on your own. You are the Black Paladin now. Not Zarkon.”

“Yeah, well,” Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose with his human hand. Keith can tell he’s trying to recover from the anger, come back to himself. Put the mask back on. “The Black Lion may have a different take on the matter.”

He puts his hand on Shiro’s shoulder, gives him a squeeze. There’s awkward quiet for a moment as they all wait, but Pidge finally sits up and points at the screen.

“Wait a second, I think I see it now,” they say. Keith watches but can’t make heads or tails of it, anyway. “Some repeating numbers in all this Galra code. Let me extract it.”

There’s a flurry for a few minutes; Pidge pulling the coordinates, plugging them into the navigation system, projecting the Thaldycon map into the air. And seeing it there makes all of it feel so real all of a sudden. It roils in Keith’s stomach.

Shiro stands and yanks the cords from his arm. He flexes it like it’s real, rubs the palm of his prosthesis with his living thumb. He’s being diplomatic but Keith can still sense the lurking impatience, pulling him tight as he begins commanding instructions to head to the Thaldycon system.

“Shiro, are you sure you can trust this?” he asks. “I mean, after all the Galra have done to you. They took your arm.”

It’s an honest question, and he sees the irritation flare in Shiro’s face, but he sees the logic click into place, the calm come back down. His brain takes that moment to unhelpfully remind him that they _fucked_ last night, invasive and obnoxious to think about right now. He remembers fingering himself in the shower to clean out the lube and cum. They share eye contact for a moment too long and he wonders if everyone knows.

“It’s worth the risk,” Shiro finally says. “Someone helped me escape. If we can locate some allies in our fight against Zarkon, especially ones from his own side, we might just find a way to take him down.”

Allura straightens and tucks her hair behind her ears, voice cold as she asserts herself. “We can check the location, but I do not like this. The Galra are not to be trusted.”

Shiro looks at her, then at Keith. His jaw is clenched shut and Keith can see a vein rising in his temple.

“Sure,” he grunts, and then he leaves the room.

* * *

Space is boring sometimes.

It’s the ironic mirror to the fact that they’re adventuring in a galatic war; sometimes within the castle itself he feels completely suffocated by the down time. Shiro tries to keep everyone busy, tries to maintain a schedule, but after his outburst they’re all juggling an impromptu afternoon off, giving him space.

Keith keeps watch on the bridge for a while, a bit out of his depth with the castle’s navigation system but willing to stay there for propriety’s sake, maybe attempting to learn more about it while he’s there. It gets boring, though, and there’s only so much of Lance’s bullshit he can listen to in one day. It’s probably the fifteenth lame pickup line he’s dropping on Allura that finally gets Keith to get up and walk out of the room.

The insides of his legs are sore, muscles strained. How awkward. He tries to hide it as he stalks off.

His mind rolls through the list of his options on how to kill time as he strolls the hallways. The others seem to have hobbies for moments like this and it always makes him feel like a freak that he hasn’t come up with any yet. Pidge is constantly tinkering with the computers, so much that Keith thinks it’s basically recreational at this point. Lance has taken to reading Altean graphic novels and trying to figure out the stories based on the pictures alone, and everyone always laughs when Coran corrects him. Hunk fucks around in the kitchen and tries to recreate human comfort foods.

But Keith. What does Keith do for fun? He trains. He jerks off. Shiro teased him about it last night and he’s starting to wonder if he jerks off too much. Space is doing something to him, fucking with him. He can’t remember being like this before, back on Earth. The horniness has been so completely pervasive out here and he’d like to blame the cabin fever for how completely helpless he’s been to ignore it.

(Cabin fever? Or perhaps the solid girth of Shiro’s dick has just ruined him.)

Maybe it’s self-consciousness that leads him to the training deck instead of his room, like he’s trying to stay civilized and do something productive. If he squints he can pretend that training is a hobby, that there’s some semblance of self-improvement in there, and if he ever had to defend himself in some bullshit PR excuse he’d pretend it was a spiritual exercise, integrating body and soul. Blah blah. But as he reaches to open the door he knows it’s just disgusting animal instinct, it’s his addiction to adrenaline, to the flashing red pain. It’s a more subtle way to destroy himself, one that usually doesn’t earn him a lecture.

He just wants to beat the shit out of something. It’s not that deep.

But the door slides open and his body freezes there, the signals in his brain conflicting and shorting out, unsure what to think or how to feel, a few seconds behind him as he tries to process all the sensory information.

It’s Shiro there already, still dressed in his regular clothes except that he’s tossed his vest over into the corner. His sleeves are rolled up and Keith notices the swell of a vein in his forearm as he swings a baton into the knees of a training bot, sweeping under it to knock it onto its back. He doesn’t miss a beat, his movements fluid and graceful as he follows through on the gesture, twists his body to crack another one in the side of the head. They’re moving quickly, aggressive, seeming all together more dangerous than when Keith fights them.

The sound of the baton rings in Keith’s head and his breath hitches in his chest as he stares. Shiro’s footwork is solid, natural, and Keith spares a glance to see the way his boots dance around the torsos of the other disabled bots littering the floor. Another comes up behind him and he ducks, grabs it by the wrist and wrenches it into an armbar. His body thuds to the mat and the grunt that he lets out runs up Keith’s spine. He’s trained with Shiro so many times, and fought beside him, and the noises he makes have always been so familiar, but there’s something new about them now. He can’t unhear that it’s the same way he sounds in bed; he’ll never unhear it.

Shiro grits his teeth as he pulls at the bot’s arm, and he throws his head back. Keith is still frozen in the doorway and doesn’t know what to do when Shiro sees him, but their eyes meet and he feels his stomach drop.

 _Champion_.

And Keith feels small again.

They’ve sparred and grappled and while Keith can admit that he’s still learning, it’s never occurred to him that Shiro was going this easy of him. What level is he even training on?

Shiro blinks, his face upside-down from where Keith is standing. He squints against the sweat in his eyes and calls out for the program to stop, then eases his grip from the bot and rolls away.

The air is humid in here, thick with Shiro’s body heat. Keith can smell him, human and warm filling this otherwise sterile space. Shiro sits on his knees and stares for a moment, wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. The silence is suffocating and Keith forces himself to say something stupid just to break it.

“You’re better at this than you were at the Garrison,” he says. It’s supposed to be a joke and he regrets it immediately when he sees the shadow pass over Shiro’s face. Fuck.

“I had some practice,” he says to the floor.

For a moment Keith doesn’t know if it’s more devastating or more arousing and his face goes red with shame that his stupid brain even goes there.

It’s weird that their friendship has been mutating the way it’s been, that they’ve _kissed_ and _fucked_ by now, but _this_ feels like some invasion of Shiro’s privacy. Keith feels like he’s walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to see, and he doesn’t know how to back away.

He almost says _sorry_ , mostly for intruding, but worries that it’ll make his bad joke worse. He keeps it to himself, and takes a half step back, easing himself out of the room.

But Shiro looks up and sees him. He cracks his neck and stands.

“Why don’t you help?” he asks. The bots are back in their starting positions and Shiro picks the baton up off the floor. He crosses the room for a sip of water, then grabs another baton off the rack to throw to Keith.

They’ve done some team-building exercises in here, all five of them, but never Keith and Shiro alone. It surprises him a little but he nods as he catches the baton and twirls it for a moment to test the balance. It’s different from how they usually just attack _each other_ , and he feels nervous as they go to the center of the room. _Protect Shiro_ as an objective might be a little too close to home and he’s going to feel like such an asshole if he does a bad job.

Shiro calls out the program objectives and it shivers nervous energy across his skin. A few levels higher than Keith usually trains at, and it feels sort of embarrassing. The bots begin to circle around them and they start back-to-back, settling into an easy cadence at the first round of blows.

“You haven’t been going easy on me this whole time, have you?” Keith asks. He smashes the jaw of the nearest bot and hears Shiro hit another one, behind him. He flinches as one gets close, as he sees it in the corner of his eye at the last second, but Shiro takes care of that one, too.

Shiro grunts and Keith doesn’t know if it’s a laugh or just the exertion. “What good would that do?”

“You train at a higher level than me.” Keith charges forward at one, his front foot skidding on the mat as he takes it out, then snaps back into place at Shiro’s side.

“Watch your footing,” Shiro says. Keith hears the whir of a bot coming towards them and almost turns to look, but forces himself to stop at the last second. He lets Shiro take care of it. “I don’t always train this hard.”

“Okay?”

“I was in a mood.”

It almost sounds like he’s apologizing, making excuses. Keith doesn’t say anything.

“I try not to go to that place too often. But I have to check in now and then and make sure I still can.”

One of them gets in a shot to Keith’s ribs and he hisses, then shoves it back.

“Careful,” Shiro says.

They’re both breathing heavy, in tandem, and Keith doesn’t know what to say. He feels bad that he said anything at all. He focuses on what he’s doing and clamps his mouth shut.

“To answer your question,” Shiro says, and Keith feels the warmth of his body for a moment as they brush against each other. “I don’t go easy on you.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

“Everyone has their own wheelhouse and we have our own styles.”

Keith isn’t sure this is the best time for one of Shiro’s lectures but he keeps his sarcasm to himself and lets him continue.

“You’re small and you need to take advantage of that.”

For a moment Keith feels mature; maybe a few months ago he would’ve gotten pissed off and defensive. _Small_. Fuck off. But today it feels like praise. Fuck.

He doesn’t see what Shiro is doing but hears him grunt, hears the crack of the baton against metal. “You always have to stay relative to your opponent. If you’re small, be small.”

Keith strikes at one that gets too close to Shiro. He takes a deep breath. “Sorry Shiro, but that the fuck are you talking about?”

Shiro sighs and stops circling. Keith glances over his shoulder to see the way he’s stood up straight. It looks like he’s going to lash out at the bots again, but instead he wipes sweat from his eyes and calls for the program to stop.

“Will it kill the mood if I tell you something fucked up?” he asks.

Keith chuckles. “What mood?”

Shiro rolls his eyes but it seems to thaw him a little bit. He rolls his shoulders and goes to put the baton away, grabs a water.

“I thought I was decent at sparring,” he sips the water and looks up at the ceiling. “You know, back at the Garrison. But it was a joke. It was so safe there. It was staged. We were never actually in danger.”

His breath is still slowing down, aching in his chest a little. He’s not sure where Shiro is going with this but already doesn’t really like it. He fusses with his baton and twirls it around a few times as an excuse not to look at him.

“I really learned to fight out here, though. You know. With them.”

Keith fumbles the baton and it clatters onto the floor. Amazing how easily Shiro can make him feel stupid and clumsy, without even meaning to. It has his face burning as he scrambles to pick it up. He sees Shiro toss his water to the side through the corner of his eye.

“Come here,” Shiro says. Why does it make him nervous? It takes a second to shake it off before he comes forward, not even trying to resist. Curious more than rebellious for some reason.

Shiro sizes him up and calls out for the program to start again. Easier this time, a low enough level that only one bot comes forward. As it approaches, Shiro comes close, his human hand wrapping loosely around Keith’s wrist as he snakes behind, presses in close, his chest to Keith’s back.

“You’re holding this all wrong,” he says, close enough to Keith’s ear that the hair on his neck stands up. The Galra hand curls around Keith’s other wrist now, and he goes pliant as Shiro moves him into a better defensive position. He almost pushes himself back into Shiro’s body as the bot comes closer, but Shiro lets him go at the last second, steps away to stay out of Keith’s backswing as he takes it out. He almost turns to look, to see Shiro’s reaction, see if he did it right, but the next bot is coming forward and Shiro is at his back again. He takes Keith’s hands this time, their fingers intertwined over the baton.

“Watch your footing,” he says, and kicks his leg between Keith’s to correct his stance. His groin muscles burn and the bratty part of him doesn’t want to admit that this is useful, even though he can feel the balance in the posture.

He can’t see Shiro’s face from here, but the way he looked when Keith came into the room is still so fresh in his mind. He’s pieced things together about what happened to Shiro, little things here and there, but seeing him like that was the biggest clue so far. Too real. Vivid and frightening, and his insides do a little twist as he tries to figure out if he’s more turned on or more horrified. It’s devastating, really, and if he was a good friend it wouldn’t be shimmering through his body, running hot between his legs.

And the bratty part shuts up fast, utterly defeated as Shiro swings at it _with_ Keith, his leg still between Keith’s own, their hands together on the baton. It should feel awkward and he should hate being babied like this, but it doesn’t. He doesn’t. The crack of the baton reverberates through his arms, through Shiro’s, and the power of them working together like this sends heat through his veins.

 _Small_ , Shiro called him, and he feels small again, in Shiro’s arms like this. It peels at the corners of a memory, buried deep where Keith hasn’t touched it in years. One of the ones he doesn’t like to think about because it still hurts too much. But it flashes to the surface and he goes tense.

Shiro must be able to feel the way his muscles seize.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Keith mumbles. Shiro is still hovering behind him, wrapped around him, teaching him the right way to move. And the memory is itchy in his brain, taking on more color as the seconds tick by. He remembers the sun on his face and the smell of cut grass, his dad’s arms around him just like this, teaching him the right way to swing a baseball bat.

Another bot comes towards them and Shiro guides Keith again to disable it. Keith steps back as it falls at their feet, straight up against the solid wall of Shiro’s chest. He shudders and Shiro rubs his human thumb in a circle on the back of his hand.

He calls for the program to pause and Keith almost protests, almost asks him why, but Shiro’s voice by his ear makes him stop.

“I had fun last night,” Shiro says. He squeezes once over Keith’s hands before he starts to pull back, touches him over his hips, pets him gently.

“Y-yeah,” his voice is dry, scratching out. Shiro’s fingers trace the hem of his shirt and he almost loses his grip on the baton, but puts all his energy into focusing on it, into staying cool.

For a moment Shiro just breathes there, into his hair, like he’s mulling over what to say. His hands stop and he drums his fingers against Keith’s hip bones.

“Were you really jerking off when I messaged you?”

From anyone else the question would sound desperate, like he’s fishing for reassurances, insecure in his own performance. But Shiro just seems amused, and it’s ironic that it makes Keith feel insecure, instead. His face burns and he looks down at his shoes.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Heh,” Shiro chuckles next to his ear. Keith twists the baton in his hands for a lack of anywhere else to put his nervous energy. “Is that normal for you?”

God. Why is Shiro like this?

“Is what normal?”

“Jerking off so much.”

The question presses up against that space, the way it has been recently. It flares at the base of his brain, this overlap between arousal and shame. That weird thing that’s been happening lately, with Shiro, unlocking things he didn’t think he liked. Because it gives him that gross feeling, too, like being scolded by all the useless adults in his life, like the judgmental eye-roll of his case manager when he was too old to be pitied anymore. Sterile awkwardness of learning about puberty in a cheap generic pamphlets and trying to be discrete about masturbating when you share a room with five other teenage boys.

His breath stutters on the way out, his eyelids feel heavy for a moment.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Kinda.”

Shiro hums and leans in close. Breathes into Keith’s hair.

“What do you think about? Touching yourself so much. Do you run out of ideas?”

Keith has an answer to the question immediately, of course. Which only feeds the dilemma. Shiro must know, right? He clenches his jaw, grinds his teeth for a moment to avoid admitting it.

“Why are you asking me this?” he asks instead.

“Humor me,” Shiro says. His human hand comes up to touch Keith’s hair, to tuck it behind his ear, comb the strands through his fingers until it’s neatly parted on one side of his neck. It leaves the skin bare, Shiro’s lips grazing him as he speaks. “Come on, I could use the distraction.”

_Shit._

“Well, um…”

God, it’s embarrassing. But he doesn’t want to pull away from it the way he thinks he should. He shudders, still caged in by Shiro’s arms, feels the soft puff of Shiro’s breath against his neck as he lets out a gentle little laugh.

“Have you always been like this?”

“Uh…”

“I was so proud of myself for helping you get your shit together… are you trying to tell me that my star cadet was defiling the Garrison behind my back all along? Where did you even find the time?”

“Shiro, I—” his voice sounds needier than he means for. Embarrassing.

The human hand runs up Keith’s abs, pets over his ribs. He feels for Keith’s nipple through his shirt, slightly damp with sweat. Keith shakes as Shiro squeezes it.

“Or the times I let you into my home? I’d get so scared that Adam and I would wake you up. You’d fall asleep on the couch and he’d _fuck me_. So good. And I’d barely remember my fucking name but I’d be so nervous that you were in the next room.”

Fuck, _fuck, fuck—_

“Maybe I shouldn’t have worried about you so much.”

He whimpers before the words come out. “N-no,” he manages. His knuckles go white around the baton and his cock is starting to ache in his jeans. “It wasn’t like that. Back then.”

“Oh?”

“It’s worse out here.”

“Tell me.”

The Galra hand squeezes around his hip one more time before trailing down, slowly. His breath stutters as Shiro palms over the front of his jeans, and… it almost takes him out of the moment, wondering. He thinks back and realizes it’s the first time Shiro has touched him with his prosthesis. Even through the barrier of his clothes it feels hard and unnatural and he accidentally moans as he rolls forward against it.

“What do you think about?” Shiro asks again. “What are you into?”

The question is straightforward, even when the answer isn’t. He knows the answer, just doesn’t want to say it. It’s too much, or it’s not enough, he isn’t sure. He’s not feeling entirely equipped to explain the more abstract parts; the adrenaline, the violence, the proximity to death. Oddly enough, he doesn’t even think he’s feeling as shy about that part as he was when this all began. But there’s the literal part of the question, too, and his mind revisits the places it usually goes. It’s a series of images, sounds. Phantom memories of touch, taste.

 _You_ , he should say, and when he shuts his eyes he can see Shiro again, in the dim blue-green light last night. He can feel Shiro’s grip around his wrists the and humid press of skin, their chests heaving against each other. He sees the weird darkness in Shiro’s eyes, when it was too intense to look away, and then the look in the training room before. Right here in this space, just a little while ago, when he saw through the mask for a moment.

“I think…” he starts, and opens his eyes, stares ahead at one of the disabled bots. Shiro squeezes him through his jeans. He’s not fully hard yet, but feeling malleable like that in Shiro’s hand somehow speeds the process along. He moans. “…about… whatever.”

Shiro chuckles. “You’re shy now?”

What does Shiro actually want, though?

It makes Keith falter, almost takes him out of the moment. Shiro pulls him in closer and he feels the hardon digging into his lower back, but somehow that’s not enough to reassure him. He thinks he might need a minute, but doesn’t know how to ask for it without making it worse. He stares at the floor and breathes through his nose.

_What are you into?_

He supposes he should’ve seen this coming, in a sense. If you’re going to start fucking someone they’re gonna start asking stuff like that. Actually, if he can take stock of his past experience, there have only been a few guys he’s returned to more than a couple times. He tends not to let anyone get to know him this well. He makes it a point to bail before anything gets too heavy.

His subconscious seems to make that connection before the rest of his brain does. But then Shiro is easing off of him, and his hands are starting to cramp from squeezing around the baton too tight, and his chest feels heavy. He should be cooling down at this point; it should be easier to breathe, not harder.

“Hey,” Shiro says softly. The heat is gone from his voice. He lets go of Keith’s cock and rubs over his biceps. “I’m sorry, are you okay?”

“What?”

There’s space between them now, the air cold on Keith’s back. It’s so fucking stupid that he jolts into a panic over it. Shit. He lets go of the baton with one hand to grab at Shiro’s wrist, still holding him around the bicep, to keep him from leaving.

“Don’t,” he mumbles.

“Don’t what?”

Christ. “Don’t go.” Shiro doesn’t speak but he stops moving away. Keith swallows hard. “Sorry, I’m. Fuck. Sorry. Don’t go?”

“I’m not,” Shiro says, and then it’s warm again as he leans back in. His cock feels softer. Whoops. “I’m not going. I didn’t mean to push, are you okay?”

He swallows again and rolls his eyes at himself. For someone who doesn’t want to make things weird, he’s awesome at making it fucking weird. He takes a moment to breathe, calms down a little, and finally laces his fingers between Shiro’s. The cool of the metal helps bring him back into his body. He tugs until Shiro lets him go, and brings their hands down again, pushes the prosthesis against the softening bulge of his cock.

“I think about you,” he says. Shiro’s hand squeezes in, fingertips seek the shape of his dick. “I mean, I didn’t. Always. You know, think about you.”

Smooth, Keith.

Shiro grunts a short laugh near his ear and his human hand strokes up and down over Keith’s arm. “Oh yeah?”

“You’re not really my type,” Keith says, even as Shiro’s presence, his _size_ , presses up against him. “But it’s been weird out here. I don’t know.”

The human hand comes up to brush Keith’s hair back again, and then he’s breathing against Keith’s skin. His thumb rubs a circle around the knob at the top of Keith’s spine. And he doesn’t say anything to draw more out, but it seems like he’s coaxing the words out, anyway.

“I can’t stop thinking about…” he licks his lips, at a loss for a moment, not sure how to say it. “…letting you fuck me.”

Shiro laughs. “God, Keith. How many times did you jerk off today?”

“I mean…” Shit. “I’ve been wanting it for a while. Thinking about it. Before last night.”

 _What are you into?_ is a loaded question and Keith is vaguely aware that he used to be _into_ things. He knows he did have a type, back on Earth. He knows there were patterns to the things he liked and the way he sought them. But he can’t remember now. It feels like it was another life, like it was a lie, a dream. It’s not what he wants from Shiro, and out here it’s only Shiro. But admitting that feels immature, makes him feel like a child again. _What are you into_? is only half-sincere; he knows if he were the one asking, he’d have been fishing for some weird kinky shit. Coming up empty feels silly.

There’s that feeling again, like his past experiences mean nothing, like he’d been a virgin last night. Like Shiro is the only one.

“I know it’s not, I don’t know,” he presses Shiro’s prosthesis harder against his cock, focuses on the pressure. “Not that interesting.”

And that laugh again. There’s a flash where he swears Shiro just bit at his earlobe, but it’s over before he can make sense of it.

“Oh,” Shiro says. “It’s plenty interesting.”

His insides throb, the way his cock does. Horniness never felt quite like this before. Maybe Shiro ruined him.

“So did it live up to your expectations?” The prosthetic fingers are more direct now, feeling out the pattern of Keith’s hardon. He pets up and down the shaft through his clothes and Keith shudders.

Every verbal response that presents itself as an option feels too stupid to say out loud, so he just nods. Shiro hums and kisses the side of his neck, sucks at the skin beneath his jaw. He doesn’t mean to moan when Shiro does it, but his head falls back against Shiro’s shoulder and all the blood rushes to his cock. He also doesn’t mean to push himself back against Shiro’s body, to feel the way Shiro’s dick twitches in his pants, to rub into it, but something in the way Shiro undoes him like this has him acting on instinct. It feels like he isn’t in control.

“Did you jerk off yet today?” Shiro asks.

Goddamnit, Shiro.

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” Shiro says. “How many times?”

“Just—” he gasps when Shiro gives him a hard stroke over his pants “—once, today. This morning.”

“What did you think about?”

The ache twinges in his groin, muscles still sore. God, it feels good though.

“What we did last night.”

Shiro chuckles. For a moment he pauses, and it almost returns Keith to full consciousness. He’s almost too alert, almost taken out of the moment, when Shiro reaches to take the baton from Keith’s hands. He rips it away suddenly, enough that Keith isn’t ready to try to defend himself, and it clatters to the floor.

“What—” he starts to ask, but Shiro is spinning him around so they’re face-to-face. Having to look _up_ at him from this close shivers down Keith’s spine.

“Tell me more than that,” Shiro says. He hooks his fingers into Keith’s belt loops and begins to steer him backwards, towards the wall. He can’t see where he’s going and stumbles over one of the bots, but Shiro holds him up. “Watch your footing,” he scolds quietly.

Backing into the wall knocks the air from his lungs. Shiro stares him in the face, his expression dark and unreadable, and Keith panics for a moment that Shiro is going to kiss him, but instead he ducks his head to suck at Keith’s neck again. It makes him relax against the wall. He likes this. It’s becoming one of his favorite things, he thinks. He reaches to grab around the back of Shiro’s shirt, bunching the fabric in his fists.

“Tell me,” Shiro says again when he comes up for air. He licks over the spot he’d been sucking on and it gives Keith goosebumps.

“When…” little gasp of breath as Shiro comes back in. He starts unbuckling Keith’s belt. “…you were holding down my wrists.”

Shiro pulls away to look him in the face. He cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Shit.

“Yeah, it… yeah.”

“I thought you didn’t like giving up control.”

“I didn’t,” Keith says, and his back arches away from the wall as Shiro tugs his pants open. The human hand comes around his cock, leather of his glove warm and soft. “Before. I didn’t.”

“You like it now?”

 _Only because it’s you_. His throat closes around the admission and he opts to just nod his head. Shiro smiles.

“Put your hands up,” he says. “Over your head.”

He mimics the position they were in last night, by instinct. He crosses his wrists, holds them up right over his head. Shiro watches cooly, so calm that Keith wonders if he’s not even going to do anything about it, but right as his arms are starting to strain the Galra hand comes up around him. His hand is so big, easily able to wrap around both of Keith’s wrists. And the pain of it, the strength, makes him whimper.

Every coherent thought in his head fades out, replaced by need, by warmth. He ruts forward into Shiro’s hand, even though the angle is awkward and uncomfortable with his hands pinned above his head. A little pathetic, really, but it burns inside.

“I can’t believe how horny you are,” Shiro says softly. It’s almost like he really means it. He gives Keith a few hard strokes. “You don’t even care that anyone could walk in right now, huh?”

Fuck.

His mouth hangs open; it’s obvious that Shiro’s caught him somehow. That he _didn’t_ fucking care, hadn’t even worried about it. He turns his head to look at the door but Shiro lets his cock go long enough to grab him by the chin and force him to face forward. The Galra hand goes tight around his wrists and he squirms there. The motion makes his pants fall down a little bit, to the tops of his thighs.

“Ridiculous,” Shiro whispers. His eyes are so dark from here. And he stays still for a moment, long enough that Keith starts to get nervous, but finally his grip on Keith’s face eases. He reaches between them again, this time opening his own pants. Keith sneaks a glance down to see the way Shiro’s cock springs forward, full and hard already. Heavy.

Shiro has to shift them both to adjust to the height difference. He grabs Keith’s thigh to hook a leg around his hip. When he leans in their dicks press together, warm and swollen. He struggles again, in denial that he’s still pinned to the wall, but can’t get any leverage as Shiro wraps a hand around them both.

“Fuck, Shiro,” he mumbles. He lets his head fall back against the wall. Closes his eyes. The muscles in his groin ache, still strained from last night, but it only works to turn him on more.

It’s stupid how everything with Shiro feels new, makes him feel small and inexperienced. Even something like this, with his hand wrapped about both of their cocks—Keith has done this before. It was one of the first things he did when he started hooking up with guys. But it felt awkward before, fumbling and immature. Shiro feels…

He shivers.

Shiro feels big, and powerful, and sure of himself. Every stroke of his hand is so confident. Even something simple like this feels so practiced; his technique feels so targeted. It floods through Keith’s brain as he continues to try to reconcile this version of Shiro with the one he’s always known.

Pleasure crests for a moment and he can’t breathe, but it smooths out soon enough. He’s feeling calmer as he rides it out, as it feels warm and nice, not so intense.

“I didn’t know you’d be like this,” he mumbles, not sure why he’s even talking.

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“I don’t know…” he lets out a little gasp as his nerves light up again for a second. “You’re such a dork all the time, I didn’t think you’d… be like this.”

His eyes go dark and Keith wants to look away, intimidated by it, but he feels stuck where he is. Shiro stares hard, keeps stroking them both. It’s almost like he’s playing a character, but it doesn’t waver as he finds a way to check in.

“Do you like it?” he asks. And he’s confident, his voice is still heavy and rich, but Keith knows it’s another mask he’s wearing.

“Yeah,” he says, and rolls his hips forward, back arching away from the wall. “Yeah, I like it.”

“Good. That’s good, Keith.”

Shiro squeezes around them as he says Keith’s name. The leather of his glove presses in warm, their heads crushing together for a moment. It makes his whole body shake.

“I’m going to let go for a moment,” Shiro says, and the grip of his Galra hand goes loose. “I want you to play with your nipple, okay?”

What? Fuck.

It seems like Shiro isn’t blinking as he stares into Keith’s eyes. And it’s all true, everything Keith said. He didn’t think Shiro would be like this. He didn’t know. The old stubborn part of him, still struggling for its life, wants to resist, laugh all of this off, but the longer Shiro stares, the smaller he feels. He wants to obey. He wants to be good.

“Okay,” he mumbles. Shiro loosens enough for Keith to pull his right hand free. As soon as he does it, Shiro tightens back up, squeezes hard, pins his left wrist to the wall. His strokes go slow as he waits, and it takes Keith a moment to shake off the haze and comply. Even the touch of his own fingertips against his hip seems like too much as he reaches beneath his shirt, as he skates up his ribs. The air is cool on his exposed stomach and it makes his nipples go hard, so that it feels even more sensitive when he goes to pinch at it like Shiro told him to.

“I noticed you’re sort of sensitive there,” he says. His voice is still deep, aroused, but he still sounds like Shiro. The Shiro Keith has known this whole time, who never stops being a mentor, never stops offering helpful advice, never stops attempting to teach him something.

“Y-yeah,” he breathes. “I guess so.”

“You didn’t notice before?”

“I guess not.”

He smirks as Keith continues to roll it between his fingers, and his stroking speeds back up. He can feel the dual points of pleasure like a cord in his body, stretching down through his chest, his gut, his cock. It tangles inside and he remembers how it felt getting fucked last night and he wants that again. And again and again. He whimpers and closes his eyes.

“You gonna come like this?”

He whimpers again and feels the energy shoot out through his body, tingling in his fingertips, in his feet. He nods his head because he can’t find the words. He wonders if Shiro is asking for the sake of challenging him and it occurs to him that the doesn’t know if he’s _allowed to._

And where the fuck did that come from? Why does it burn beneath his skin so good?

He wonders how desperate he’d have to be to ask for permission. He’s never done that before and doesn’t know why he suddenly thinks he should. Except that Shiro feels big all around him, commanding, and Keith wants to obey. Wants to be good. Wants to, wants to…

“Come,” Shiro says softly. It sends chills down Keith’s body and his orgasm is so sudden, so strong. It happens in a flash and he almost has the presence of mind to be embarrassed about it, but he can’t focus on anything. It’s bright and fast and he makes a choked out little noise as Shiro grunts in approval.

It splashes up warm on his belly and he looks down to see the way it’s all over Shiro’s glove.Their heads are squeezed together in Shiro’s fist, red and shining. Shiro is dripping. And he’s… staring. He’s still pulling them, watching Keith’s face as his body rides out the orgasm, rolling through it. Still staring as it becomes too much.

“Shiro…”

He squirms against the wall but still can’t get free. He starts trembling all over as Shiro strokes them faster.

“Please,” he whines. “It’s too much…”

He tugs again at the Galra hand and the pain flares in his wrist. And it’s stupid that he knows then, for sure, that he’s going to be storing this away later when he jerks off again. Even in the haze of the moment he knows this. His mouth falls open and he gasps for breath and it’s too soon and too much but he’s so fucking turned on.

It takes a moment to remember his right hand is free and he feels stupid that he was so busy _obeying_ that he didn’t remember he had that leverage. God, he’s stupid when he’s horny. He grits his teeth and drops his hand from his own chest, and his t-shirt falls back down, gross and sticky against the cum on his abs. He shoves at Shiro, not weakly, and _fuck_ if Shiro isn’t solid, unmoving. His face burns and his eyes flutter closed.

“You want me to stop?” Shiro asks.

No? He’s not sure. He whines and shakes and he feels it ache inside his hips, where his muscles are still sore from last night.

“Just…” he wiggles and pushes hard against Shiro’s chest to no avail. “Fucking hurry up.”

Maybe Shiro likes to obey, too, in his own way. He laughs gently and leans forward to suck at Keith’s neck, over his pulse point. It worries Keith for a moment, the oversensitivity becoming agony, and he wonders if Shiro isn’t going to stop. It can’t be more than a few seconds but it stretches forever, until Shiro bites down. Keith feels his body convulsing. Feels the cum spurt out, hot. It’s weird to feel it against his own cock, and it’s wet and warm on his shirt. So gross. But he stops fighting, relaxes against the wall, and his ears are ringing as Shiro calms down and lets up.

His hand drops to his side as Shiro backs off, and with the distance between them they can look each other over. Shiro tugs his pants back into place and looks down at his hand for a moment, like he’s contemplating, but then just peels his glove off and stuffs it into his pocket. He wipes his hand on his thigh and then pushes his hair out of his face. And stares.

Oh.

It takes Keith a minute to shake it off, and it’s stupid that he’s just standing there, exposed. He shuffles to pull his pants up, hands shaking a little as he buttons them. He’s not sure if it’s from how hard he came or if it’s from straining into Shiro’s grip, but his arms feel rubbery and useless. He tries to straighten his t-shirt, runs his hands over his hips to smooth it down, but there’s not much he can do about the wet patch on the front. His cheeks go hot.

They don’t speak for a moment, enough that it’s tipping over into being awkward, but Shiro finally smiles and turns to go grab his water off the floor. He takes a sip and then tosses it to Keith.

“Cool down stretches?” he asks, like nothing fucking happened.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

So they’re back down on the mat, running through their usual routine. If this were a couple months ago, or if it were back at the Garrison, anywhere else in space and time, it wouldn’t be so obscene the way Shiro spreads his legs. The little moan of pleasure as he stretches his back wouldn’t sound so sexual. Keith goes through the motions but he’s distracted, probably not doing anything right. It doesn’t matter, really. But he doesn’t want Shiro to call him on it.

He doesn’t know if he likes that this is becoming normal. He’s not sure how it went from beating up robots to fucking around in a public space. Doesn’t know how it went from an orgasm to stretching on the floor, business as usual. He tucks one leg against his body and stretches over to his side, feels the pull of it in his obliques. Maybe it’s okay, though. He’s prodding at himself, trying to make it more uncomfortable than it actually is. Trying to confirm to himself that it’s getting _weird_ , but… it feels fine. Really.

And the real answer—how did it go from beating up robots to fucking around? Shiro started teasing him about how much he jerks off. Oh yeah. He chews on his lip and glances at Shiro. Takes a deep breath to hold in an outburst, tries to stay cool, but…

“I mean, is it really that weird that I jerk off so much?” he blurts out.

Shiro stops, mid motion, and smirks. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but doesn’t know what to say. The smile grows into something endeared, amused, and he sits back up straight.

“Well…”

Keith’s face burns.

“It’s certainly… vigorous.”

“Hmph.” Keith sighs and flops back against the mat, stares up the ceiling. He hears Shiro shift closer.

“Hey,” he says, and Keith isn’t looking but feels his heat nearby as they wind up beside each other. “I didn’t mean to tease you about it. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Keith laughs, short and bitter. “Why does that make it more embarrassing, you saying that?”

Shiro laughs, too.

“Well, I wasn’t judging.”

“Thanks.”

It’s silent for a moment, and he looks over. Shiro is sitting next to him, upright still, staring down with warmth in his eyes.

“Were you serious, though?” he asks.

Keith thinks he’s blushing again. “…yeah? I mean. Is it… come on, it’s not that weird, is it?”

“Well, I mean…” his fingertips tap idly over Keith’s hip bone. “I mean, I’m not a biologist, but…”

“But?”

He shrugs and lets out a nervous laugh. “But I don’t know. Maybe it’s a little excessive.”

Keith crosses his arms over his chest. He wants to turn away but Shiro seems to sense it and intercepts by pressing down hard where he’s still touching Keith’s hip. It’s weak enough that Keith could still roll away if he wants to, but he doesn’t. In lieu of the original escape route, he covers his eyes with his hands.

“I feel like a freak.”

“Hey,” Shiro says. It’s gentle and condescending but Keith doesn’t have the energy to get mad about it. “You’re not a freak, okay?”

He peeks up at Shiro, tries to read his face. Seems genuine enough, like he always is. But the corner of his mouth quirks into a little grin.

“A slut, maybe. But not a freak.”

“Hey!” he tries not to laugh as he reaches to smack Shiro on the shoulder. “Fuck you.”

Shiro grabs his wrist and it’s still a little sore from before, but he struggles anyway, just for the sake of it. They pull against each other and Shiro sways in place, laughing as he starts to keel over. He puts his free hand out, plants it next to Keith’s head to catch himself. He hovers close, propped above him. It’s warm again, Keith feels it coiling inside.

Keith feels Shiro’s breath on his face as he speaks.

“Tell me more about what you like,” he says.

“Um,” he shifts, uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”

“Well we figured out you like being bossed around,” Shiro says. “And you like bottoming. I noticed you have a thing about your neck.”

He blushes and squirms but doesn’t respond.

“I guess you like it in public, too, huh?”

All the blood in his body rushes to his cock. He rolls his hips up to reposition, hoping it’ll make his pants feel less tight. Shiro takes a glance down his body and, goddamnit. The way he smiles about it. Fuck.

“You really are something,” he says softly. “I mean, I know you’re younger than me, but fuck.”

“Shiro,” he whines. “Don’t tease me.”

“Sorry,” he’s laughing a little as he says it. But it’s gentle, sweet. Good natured. There’s never been anyone in Keith’s life that could laugh like that, laugh at him without making him feel stupid. Well. No. There was…

Shiro puts his free hand over the swell in Keith’s pants, rubs his palm down. “It’s okay, Keith. It’s kinda hot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.” His thumb brushes over the button on Keith’s pants, like he’s going to open them again, but he stops. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He pops the button and pulls down Keith’s zipper. It feels sort of perfunctory, the way he moves the fabric, the way he pulls Keith’s dick out. But then he lets go and stares for a moment. He’s hard again, so hard.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t… think of anything.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow, silently asking for clarification. Keith swallows hard.

“I mean like. I feel like you were asking me about, like, I don’t know. Kinky stuff? And I couldn’t think of anything.”

“Oh.” He wraps his hand around Keith’s shaft and begins to jerk him off. It’s gentle this time, unhurried. Feels oddly comforting, in light of the fact that they’re still out in the open. “That’s okay. I think we’ve managed so far.”

What a weird thing to say.

He takes a glance at the door and Shiro’s grip goes tighter but he doesn’t speed up.

“So you like it in public?” he says.

“I…”

“I mean, you told me about the pizza place. Iverson’s office. Where else?”

“Um…”

“Are you just reckless or is it part of the thrill for you? Do you do it on purpose?”

He arches up from the mat, making a noise in the back of his throat. Shiro continues to move so slow. It would be luxurious if they were anywhere else. He was too horny to worry about it before, in the heat of the moment, but drawing it out like this hasn’t taken his mind out of the real world.

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asks. He stops moving. “Are you worried someone’s gonna come in?”

“Shiro…”

“I can’t figure it out,” he says, and continues. His thumb presses hard into Keith’s head. “Is it the danger junkie thing? Do you just get off on getting yourself into trouble?”

He digs his heel into the mat.

“Or is it…” Shiro speeds up a little. “That anyone would come in and see how needy you really are? You act like you’re so cool, Keith. But you’re just a desperate little slut.”

He feels a second orgasm pulling tight in his body, almost ready, but Shiro squeezes him tight to cut it off. “It would really ruin the edgy bad boy gimmick if someone saw you like this, wouldn’t it?”

“Shiro, fuck. _Please_.”

“Please what?”

It feels like he fell into a trap. He bites his lip to avoid saying it. To avoid asking. Begging.

“Is this okay?” Shiro asks again. He speeds up and Keith shudders. And Shiro’s asking a sincere question, checking in again, but his voice is still so sultry. “I’m not out of line, am I? You like being called names, don’t you?”

Well, no.

Not really.

Not until this exact moment.

Shiro can probably see that on his face, the conflict, and he smiles again. He strokes at Keith in long, quick pulls, makes sure to bump around the ridge of his cockhead each time.

“Please,” he manages.

“Please what, Keith?”

Oh god, oh god.

He rocks his hips up, tries to fuck into Shiro’s hand, to gain some semblance of control, but the prosthesis comes down hard against his navel, presses him down to the floor.

“Please, Shiro,” he whines. And he feels the last bits of self preservation tip over the edge, fall down, crumble around him. The words start pouring out in a gush. “Please, let me come. Let me come. Please. Shiro can I come?”

Never in his fucking life.

It looks like Shiro is contemplating it, drawing it out. But instead of answering, he muses: “Imagine Lance walked in right now.”

“Hngh—”

“And he sees you here, all horny and desperate, whining on the floor. Asking for permission to come. Little tough guy who never bottomed before, pretending he doesn’t like to give up control. How does it feel, Keith?”

“Good. It’s good.” He reaches to hold Shiro by the wrist, fingers slippery on the metal, just to ground himself. “I’m gonna come.”

But Shiro freezes, grips him tight, sudden enough that Keith looks over at the door again, like they’ve been caught. It’s still closed, they’re still alone, and he moans at the way the jolt of adrenaline blends into all the other sensation. He balls his hands into fists.

“Shiro, what—”

“I didn’t say you could come,” he says gently.

The whole situation blooms in his head, expands through his body like it’s in his veins. He’s never felt like this before. He presses his heels down into the mat again, squeezes his legs together, his body going tense and trying to curl in on itself.

Shiro leans in close to say something else, but before the words come out Keith turns, buries his face into the damp skin beneath Shiro’s jaw. He inhales hard, almost gasps, and lets the smell flood through him. It’s Shiro’s soap and whatever he shaves with, and the clean layer of sweat from training, and… and…

“Shiro…” he whines, and bunches Shiro’s shirt into his fist.

He’s dizzy with stimulation and it feels like falling. His mouth hangs open as he pants against Shiro’s skin, not sure why he’s acting like such an animal, except that his rational mind feels far away. It’s a space he’s entered and he can’t feel the floor beneath them as he floats there, acting on instinct and need. It won’t occur to him to be embarrassed about it until later, when they’re done, when he’s back in his own body.

“Jesus…” Shiro mutters. If he finds any of this to be Too Much, he’s kind enough not to say so. Instead, he speeds his hand back up. “You can come.”

It aches all over as he says it, and the words seem to lock everything in place. He breathes against Shiro’s neck, nearly sucking at it, and Shiro strokes him through it, slows accordingly, stops before it hurts. His shirt is still wet and sticky from the first time and it adds to the weird burn of embarrassment from the whole thing. Tremors run through is body as he lies there, staring at the ceiling and trying to calm down.

“Such a mess,” Shiro says softly, as if picking up on the same thing. All the dominance has left his voice; he sounds sincere, almost like he’s marveling at it. Keith blushes and lifts his hips from the ground, rushes through buttoning back up. He tries to wipe his stomach with the fabric of his shirt but it doesn’t really help that much.

The temperature of the room starts settling back into his skin as the shakes start tapering off. He sits up and rubs at his arms. Shiro smirks at him and reaches for his water, doesn’t look away as he sips.

“I didn’t interrupt your training, did I?” he asks.

God, Keith hates him sometimes. He considers rolling his eyes and telling Shiro to fuck off, but winds up rolling with it, instead.

“Well, it was train or jerk off. So. I guess it’s a wash.”

Shiro smiles but doesn’t laugh. He hands the water to Keith and they sit in silence for a few minutes. Keith’s body thrums pleasantly, satiated maybe for once. It’s peaceful, maybe, if that’s the right word. Things feel quiet inside.

Just as he’s thinking it’s too cold, as his skin is starting to break out in goosebumps, Shiro pats Keith on the shoulder and stands, calls to end the program. The bots obediently disappear back where they belong and when the room is empty, Shiro just hovers over him. The mass of his body blocks out some of the ceiling light, casting Keith in his shadow. He reaches his hand out.

“Come on,” he says. “We should head back.”

Back to what, exactly? Keith needs to shower and doesn’t even know what time it is anymore. He wonders if Shiro will come up with a schedule for everyone fro the rest of the day.

He lets Shiro tug him to his feet, and he tries to zip his jacket up over the stain. He expects Shiro to tease him about it, but maybe he’s satiated, too. Quiet, but not the scary quiet. Chill quiet. For a quick second it reminds him of how they used to watch sunsets from the hoverbikes. Comfortable silence.

It dawns on him as he watches Shiro approaching the door, seeing the relaxed set to his shoulders. It’s such a startling contrast to the way Keith found him here; the revelation that he still carries so much dark violence from his time with the Galra. It’s… not so different from how Keith feels after they fuck around, maybe. Relaxed. Human again.

He has to swallow around a lump in his throat before he’s able to speak, right as Shiro is about to reach the door.

“Hey… Shiro?”

Shiro turns to look at him over his shoulder. He raises an eyebrow.

“You, um,” Keith scratches the back of his head. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I just want you to know that, you know. You can talk to me. If you need to.”

Shiro blinks but doesn’t answer quickly enough for Keith’s nerves.

“About like, what happened to you and everything,” he adds. Ugh. He thinks he’d cringe at his own awkwardness if Shiro couldn’t see his face.

But his expression is so soft, and his little smile is so genuine. So warm.

“Yeah. I know.” He turns fully to face Keith and touches his shoulder again, gives it a squeeze. “You’re a good friend, Keith.”

Something bubbles in his chest. He just nods, feeling sort of stupid and sort of thrilled at the same time. God, it’s beyond ridiculous that they’ve been through this much together and a simple praise like that can turn him into a moony idiot. He tries to squeeze around the elation, squash it into a ball, hide it somewhere.

Maybe it’s why he changes the subject as Shiro steps out into the hallway.

“You didn’t tell me yours,” he says.

“My what?”

“Your… thing. You know. What you’re into.”

Shiro laughs and stops walking. He holds his hand out into the doorframe to keep the door from closing as he looks at Keith. Studies him for a second before he looks down the hallway, right and then left, like he’s checking to make sure they’re still alone.

Then he leans in, close enough to Keith’s ear that he feels the warm breath. He says it low, like it’s a secret, but he sounds satisfied with himself. It’s a stage whisper that makes Keith shudder, shoots chills through his body, gives him goosebumps and makes his nipples go hard.

 _“I wanna eat you out_.”

He stands there for a moment, frozen, as Shiro walks away. Watches him disappear around the corner. The door to the training room slides shut, closes him in as he stares.

Honestly, Shiro is the biggest douchebag.

Keith adjusts his shirt, tries to look put together as he steps out into the hallway and goes off towards his room.

All that agonizing over it and Shiro’s wasn’t kinky, either.

Fuck him.

* * *

They’re running drills the next day when Allura sends a distress signal from the castle.

Even in the face of an emergency, her voice sounds clipped and icy as she speaks to Shiro about it through the comms. Still mad at each other, clearly, and it fills everyone with a weird, apprehensive energy.For the last hour they’ve been forming Voltron and breaking apart, over and over, testing different speeds and positions, trying to figure out how quickly they can come together. Clicking in and out of the shared mind space from each other, over and over, has been fucking exhausting. Feeling the twitchy nervous energy coming from the Paladins is exhausting, too.

It reminds Keith of a home they’d put him in once, in the beginning when he was still young enough for people to want him. It lasted long enough for them to figure out that a kid wasn’t going save their marriage. But there was that tension all the time, strung between them, filling the whole house. He tries to breathe evenly and bury the memories where the others won’t feel it through the bond.

Thankfully, they aren’t too far from the castle. They stay together as Voltron for the trip back; Allura tells them that the castle shield will hold until they return and it seems like an extension of the drill they’re running. Shiro pushes them to see how fast they can travel while they’re connected and Keith can feel everyone’s collective reverence for him. Still, he tries to bury his own reverence. Doesn’t want to reveal too much.

There are cruisers firing on the castle as they arrive. Formed as Voltron it isn’t a struggle to take them out. It feels good to work with the others as a team; they’re already warmed up and it’s one of those days that they’re fluid together. He doesn’t need to think too hard about any of it. They all feel like part of each other. Connected.

Still, working as one unit he can still feel Shiro’s influence beneath everyone, holding them together. His voice is the backbone of all of it, rich and calming, even as he deploys the weapons, as the cruisers explode around them. He has to focus, keep his feelings buried. The last thing he wants is to make it gross for everyone else.

But then the last two cruisers are splitting into different directions, and Shiro calls for them to break apart to pursue. The shared consciousness cracks away and Keith gasps for breath as his mind floods back into place. He grips the throttles and dives for the further of the two cruisers, using Red’s speed to their advantage. He hears the others speaking in his comm but doesn’t quite listen.

Red shakes as he fires her canon and it shimmers in his body. It’s an illusion that he can feel the heat of the fire as he watches the ship burst into pieces; he knows it’s an illusion. But it glows in his cockpit and he wants to bask in it like sunlight. For a moment it hurts his eyes, throbs in his brain, but the sensation runs through his whole body. Gets in his veins. He sinks into his seat and moans from the pleasure of it.

“Great job, Keith,” Shiro says, and the praise tangles his insides in a knot.

He turns Red in time to see the way Shiro destroys the last cruiser. Black is huge and powerful and it looks so effortless.

 _I wanna eat you out_ , he fucking said.

Keith shifts in his seat and presses his legs together.

He’s been trying not to think about it all morning, afraid that the others might feel it through the bond. But they’re apart now. It’s safe to examine it. It’s safe, by himself, in his cockpit, to allow himself to feel the arousal as the debris glitters around them.

“Let’s head in,” Shiro says, and Keith hangs back for a moment to absorb it.

He wonders if Shiro said it to trick him. He’s been rolling it around in his mind, trying to figure it out. Wanting to eat someone out could probably be a kink to some people, that’s fine. He gets it. And yet he’s been getting this vibe from Shiro that maybe he’s… _weirder_ than Keith would’ve guessed. More experienced. He’d called Keith a _desperate little slut_ like it was the most natural thing in the world. Someone who can pull out dirty talk like that wouldn’t consider eating someone’s asshole to be all that exciting, would he?

Shiro’s eyes had been so dark after he said it. And he just… _looked_ at Keith, saying things without saying them.

It’s like Shiro knew what it would do to him.

Maybe that’s his thing. He’d seemed so sure of himself, it had seemed so practiced that he’d talked so much shit, told Keith what to do. Maybe Keith’s been too obvious about how badly he wants to be taken apart. Maybe…

He shudders as the thought occurs to him.

It’s one thing to get each other off, just for the fuck of it. To relieve the excess adrenaline. And maybe he’s using it as an opportunity to broaden his sexual experience with a person he trusts. But he hasn’t really considered that Shiro is getting off on being the one to teach him. Shiro said that bullshit, knowing that it would light up Keith’s brain, knowing it was another way to explore his inexperience. Keith thinks that Shiro only said it to watch him squirm. 

God, it should make him feel stupid and played and awkward. But he can’t stop thinking about it. He wants it. He wants to know what’s going to happen.

He lets Red float for a moment, still collecting himself in the debris field. No one has noticed that he’s hanging back yet, which is good. He needs a minute alone after all the mind melding, after focusing so hard all morning to keep his own out of the gutter.

The warmth and light fading from the cockpit helps him cool off, at least enough to be civil for a little while. He imagines it’ll serve him long enough to make it inside and get Shiro alone. He catches up with the others and pulls in, takes a moment to relax before he heads down into the hangar.

He hears them before he sees them.

Allura’s voice echoes in the hallway as he approaches Black’s landing bay. He slides his hand along the wall, pressing himself close to stay out of sight.

“…hardly a coincidence,” she’s saying, and it’s the first thing Keith hears clearly.

Shiro’s back is to him from where he’s ducking against the wall. His helmet is propped against his hip and he’s squeezing his Galra hand into a fist.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Shiro says. He’s speaking evenly, the volume under control, but Keith can hear the dry anger in it. Allura must be able to see it in his face, too, though Keith isn’t sure how well she can read humans. Or this particular human.

He hovers there, trying to decide if he should get involved. Of course, he’s walking in mid-argument, only hearing bits and pieces, and maybe he doesn’t have the context to jump in. Nothing he can say will resolve any of it, anyway. All these tactical decisions and leadership stuff is a bit over his head and he doesn’t really feel qualified to get involved.

But the explosions ring in his head and he wants Shiro to himself. He wants Shiro’s hands on him. He wants to close his eyes and think about the light of Red’s canon as they repurpose the violent energy from each other. Shiro was so powerful today and he can still feel the remnants of their mind-meld, feel the tug of Shiro’s instructions, following his lead as an instinct. It felt good and _right_ and he wants that again.

Yesterday, Shiro had called him a slut and said he wasn’t allowed to come and this afternoon he shouted commands to everyone and said that Keith did a great job and he wants… he wants…

The sooner they stop arguing, the sooner he can get Shiro alone.

He straightens out and steps forward, into sight, and they both go quiet. Shiro’s face is still drawn as he turns to look at Keith over his shoulder, irritated and cold, flat.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

Allura and Shiro both shift, neither answering. They look at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere to avoid each other. Shiro rubs his eyes.

And Keith has nothing to say, really. Maybe it was stupid to butt in, but now that he’s here it feels like it was right. He feels drawn to Shiro’s side.

“Everything is fine,” Allura says. She looks sad. She and Shiro meet each other’s eyes again and something silent passes between them before he shrugs and turns away to clap Keith on the shoulder.

“Why don’t you go hit the showers?” he suggests. Keith stares at him for a moment, tries to glean subtext, read another message from it. Something is there, hidden in Shiro’s eyes, but he doesn’t quite understand. Shiro offers him a tiny smile and a shrug. “We’ll debrief after.”

Keith snorts. _Debrief._ Is that what we’re calling it now?

It’s a dismissal and that doesn’t evade him, but a sense of calm washes over as he turns to leave. Obeying Shiro feels like the right thing to do. It’s like an instinct to submit to him and his brain craves Shiro’s approval. Maybe he’ll be rewarded. Maybe Shiro will tell him how good he was.

His feet skid on the floor as he reaches the door, as the thought comes and goes. He reaches out to hold the door frame.

How good he was?

The fuck.

He pushes his hair out of his face and tries to hurry away from them, craving the privacy. This whole situation with Shiro is… doing something to him. The fuck?

This has gotta fucking stop.

* * *

Sometimes there are aftershocks from mind-melding.

So much of the information between them is abstract in the moment, intuitive and subliminal. He feels the others as if they’re his own appendages, pieces of himself. The connection is almost completely about physicality, about moving together. And there are waves that come through; he can tell when Hunk is scared or when Pidge gets confused. For as often as he and Lance are at each other’s throats, he can feel the _goodness_ there, too. Feel the sincerity that goes unspoken beneath his obnoxious exterior.

But it’s afterwards, in the quiet. When he’s showering, or training, or trying to sleep. He gets these flashes of images, slices of their memories. And they’re so vivid sometimes.

The shower wall is cool against his forehead as he leans into it, closes his eyes, lets the hot water pound at the back of his neck. The steam lends itself to a memory from Hunk; visiting cousins in Pago Pago and the way the humidity enveloped him the moment he stepped off the plane. The way he’d sweat on the walk up the hillside to their little house. There had been chickens in the road and a stray dog that followed them for ten minutes and the smell of sausages from a neighbor’s grill.

There are also the whispers of bullies at school, and Pidge ducking into the bathroom after lunch to comb food out of their hair. Shaking it off and putting their game face on before going back to class.

And he sees the wreckage of a car accident Lance had the summer before joining the Garrison. It’s a snapshot he sees, almost without context, but he can feel the palpable heartbreak beneath it; Lance had saved up for the longest time for that car. His baby.

He’s come to expect these visions, and sometimes they cut deep, but he feels closer to all of them in some unspoken way. No one ever talks about it after, if they get them too, and he doesn’t know what types of weird anecdotes he might have revealed about himself on accident. Maybe it’s why he hates socializing with everyone after battles, too afraid of what they might know about him. What types of uncomfortable memories they’ve seen. People always treat him differently after they learn too much.

On some level he respects that they’ve all suffered, experienced shit. But he’s defensive about his own memories. Nothing that he’s seen from them is quite the same as what happened to him. At least they all had childhoods.

He rubs circles into his scalp as he rinses his hair, breathing deep and trying to sort through the artifacts. Even the painful memories from the others are usually somewhat mundane; as much as he hates the idea of Pidge being bullied in school, it isn’t anything too unusual for teenagers, right? Maybe pain is relative, maybe he shouldn’t stack their traumas against each other. It’s hard to know, hard to quantify.

Anyway, who cares if he had it worse than everyone?

But there’s a chill in his spine right as the thought comes and goes. He’s balancing on this fault line between self pity and self righteousness and something else crashes in, the feeling of it tangible. It reverberates through his brain, nauseating illusion of physical sensation, and he curls his fingers against the shower wall to brace himself.

_Shiro. Shiro. Champion._

The memory expands and collapses and Keith isn’t sure if he should try to unpack it. Part of it is pure selfishness, that he doesn’t _want_ to fucking know, doesn’t think he can stomach it. Part of it is out of respect for Shiro’s privacy. But… but…

God. It’s almost like he _has_ to know. The visions are wrapped tight with red pain, heated fury. It throbs deep in Keith’s chest and he wants to provoke it, pick at it like a scab that won’t heal. Press against it like a bruise to feel the flare of warmth. Maybe knowing this is a good thing, maybe sharing Shiro’s burden will help him, eventually.

He shouldn’t try to unpack it, he shouldn’t.

But it’s too late.

The image blooms, unfolds. It seems like an exam room; cold and sterile and pulsing with purple Galra light. Everything hurts and he can’t move; he thinks his limbs are bound to the table but it’s tight around his head, as well, and he can’t lift it to see. He wants to curse at them, but there’s metal in his mouth, stretching at his lips, and he can’t make words. It aches in his jaw. He goes to scream instead but it’s cut off by the tube they feed into his throat.

His eyes open and he shuts the water off. At first he doesn’t move to leave, just braces against the shower wall to calm down. Tries to breathe through his clenched teeth.

He’d take out the Galra alone if he could. _Fuck_.

The anger pulses inside, shaky and hot. Everything he’s learned in life tells him that this type of emotion is toxic, that it’s negative, that it’s because he’s fucked up. But it makes him feel powerful. It taps into an energy that anchors him into his own body, threading him into his true self.

Fuck.

His hands are shaking when he pushes away from the wall and reaches for a towel, tries to scrub the feeling off his skin. He thinks he needs to hit something, or fuck something, he’s not sure, just needs to _process_ all of this somehow.

 _Debrief_ , Shiro had said. Keith pinches the bridge of his nose and can’t decide if Shiro is a genius or a complete loser.

And… he wants to. God, he wants to. It’s becoming too normal, which is disconcerting in its own way, and yet he wants it anyway. But the phantom of Shiro’s memories scratch in his throat, and he swallows like he can still feel the probes there. It tangles everything together; he isn’t sure where his concern ends or his horniness begins, which parts are fury and which are need. It’s a weight, throbbing in the center of his chest, visceral and suffocating.

His datapad is blinking from the top of his bed when he steps back into his room. He dries off his hair as he crosses over to it, drops his towel on the floor as he gets there.

A text from Shiro is floating on the screen.

 _Come over?_ it says.

He stares for a moment, adjusts himself. The anticipation of it clicks low in his belly and he taps a quick _be right there_ before he scrambles to pull his clothes on. He doesn’t even bother with shoes.

The air in the hallway is cold on his damp hair, makes chills rise on his arms. This feels so planned and deliberate, making it an _event_ when it’s usually more impulsive. It has his cock twitching in his sweatpants as he reaches Shiro’s door and keys in the lock code.

It’s dark inside and he feels it instantly.

He doesn’t know how he feels it, or why, can’t explain it except that maybe it’s another aftershock from the mind-meld. It’s never happened like this before, though. But he feels it.

“Shiro?” he asks softly.

And he can _feel_ it. Feel Shiro’s energy in the room, palpable, warm in the air. He can feel the stress, the pain. Can practically taste it and he doesn’t understand what’s happening.

Shiro is splayed across his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It’s dark, but Keith can make out his features as he comes in closer. He seems perfectly calm, doesn’t give anything away, except that Keith can just… can just _tell_.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Shiro turns to look at him and raises an eyebrow. “Something’s wrong?”

Keith hovers in the middle of the room. It swirls around him again, in the air, and he breathes it to make sure it’s still there. It’s humid and tacky in his throat.

How do you say that, though?

He swallows around it and shrugs.

They stare at each other in the dark and there’s a flash of panic that Shiro is going to deny it, that he’s going to put Keith in the awkward position of having to explain himself.Or, fuck. If it’s leftover from the mind-meld he hopes that Shiro can’t feel him, too.

But the mask slips after a moment. The frustration flickers across Shiro’s face and he sighs. He stares at his prosthesis for a moment, flexes his hand before he folds both of them behind his head and stares at the ceiling again.

“I’m just…” he trails off and his brow creases like he’s trying to figure out the words. Keith comes closer, sits at the edge of the bed but stays safely away, gives him space. Shiro takes a few deep breaths, probably counting them in his head to stay relaxed, and the stress infusing the room recedes until Keith can’t feel it anymore. “This whole situation is fucked, I don’t know.”

“Which part?”

They smirk at each other; the humor isn’t lost, but Keith was genuinely asking.

“Allura is being really difficult.”

 _That sucks,_ Keith almost says, for a lack of a better response, but he opts to stay quiet and let Shiro talk.

“I get it, really,” Shiro says. “I know it looks suspicious. But…”

“What?”

“I keep remembering things.”

“Oh.”

Keith remembers, too; feels the restraints again, the way Shiro’s throat had felt shredded for days afterwards.

Shiro forces out a bitter little laugh and rubs his face. “It’s so stupid,” he says, trying to play it down, but Keith hears how his voice cracks.

“Hey,” Keith scoots closer on the bed, reaches to touch Shiro’s knee. “It’s not stupid.”

He’s covering his eyes, trying to get his breathing even again. He peeks at Keith through his fingertips. Not quite crying, but his eyes are glassy. He looks more exhausted than anything else.

“I got out, I don’t know why I’m so upset about it all of a sudden.”

Keith doesn’t think he should answer, thinks Shiro is just trying to get it off his chest, but he’s staring, like he’s waiting for Keith to say something. Shit. He scratches at the back of his neck, grinds his teeth trying to figure it out. Keith knows better than anyone that lame platitudes aren’t the right response, but Shiro just looks so fragile. He swallows around the lump in his throat and looks at the floor as he forces the words out.

“Grief can be like that.”

Shiro laughs again, dry and short. “You think I’m grieving?”

“You lost something,” he says quietly. He starts to draw his hand away from Shiro’s knee, but Shiro grabs it, holds him there. It feels like he’s begging Keith to continue. He spares a quick glance to Shiro’s face, to see if he’s listening, but can’t hold his gaze. He just looks too fucking sad and Keith can’t stand it. “And yknow. That never really goes away. The grief, I mean. So. It’s okay. Sometimes you get upset.”

They say nothing for a while, just sit with it. It isn’t a particularly comfortable silence, but it’s not making Keith want to crawl out of his skin. A painful silence, maybe.

Grief doesn’t go away, Keith knows. It just becomes familiar. It becomes easier to navigate. But it’s always sort of trilling beneath the surface. His own comes and goes on its own whim and he’s accepted that it will for the rest of his life.

“That sucks,” Shiro says.

They both laugh, a little nervously.

He tries to look at Shiro’s face again, forces himself to stick with it this time. Painful silence, and he’s had these moments on his own before, and bad days where he couldn’t imagine it could ever get better, and…

It feels okay. Being here for one of Shiro’s moments. Painful silence but he wants to be here for it. Shiro’s certainly been there when Keith goes through it; it’s the least he can do.

“I missed you, you know,” Shiro says after a while.

His eyes burn and he doesn’t know if he can keep his voice steady, but he tries.

“Yeah. You too.”

He pulls his hand away again, but Shiro lets him this time. They fold in his lap and he picks at one of his cuticles.

“I remembered some stuff…” Shiro starts to say, but then shakes his head. Rubs his eyes. “Ugh. It’s stupid.”

“Shiro, come on,” Keith grumbles. He edges a little closer so that he can lay a soft punch to Shiro’s arm. “Stop saying that.”

And is that a… pout? On Shiro’s face? He’s pouting. Keith punches him again.

“Seriously, you know I’m not good at this shit.”

“Sorry,” Shiro mumbles.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Keith says. Somehow, he manages to hold Shiro’s gaze as he says it. “But, you can. And it’s not stupid.”

“I know. It’s just that I haven’t… said any of this out loud yet.” He tries to smile but it’s crooked and sad. “I mean, not that I remembered it until now anyway.”

Keith wants to ask but stops himself, waits it out. Shiro will continue if he wants to. Keith isn’t going to push. The impatience of it crawls over him, anyway, though.

A quiet whir from Shiro’s arm comes out as he rolls himself onto his side, curls around himself. He doesn’t turn away from Keith, which is probably a good sign, but he tucks his head down so they aren’t looking at each other. Wraps his arms around his ribs. Even in the dark, Keith can make out the way his living bicep strains in his shirt as he flexes and relaxes his muscles.

“They would… hurt me,” he finally says. It hovers between them for a moment. Keith can’t know if Shiro is referring to the vision that came through in the meld or if it’s more than that. It rises to the surface again, vivid. Restraints and probes, needles. To Keith it seems obvious that they were _experimenting_ , mapping him out, but of course to Shiro it was only registered as pain. It only hurt him. Just violating and humiliating and painful.

He keeps all of this information to himself and waits for Shiro to continue.

“And I would try so hard to go somewhere else in my head. Just so that I wouldn’t have to be there, you know? But I left Earth so fucked up.”

“What do you mean?”

He shudders and pulls in tighter on himself. He reaches up to cover his face with one of his hands. “Nothing was enough.”

In the back of his mind, Keith decides that next time they’re in battle he’ll kill one of them with his bare hands.

“I was so… _heartbroken_ when I left. I didn’t want anyone to know. But I felt so fucked up about how I left things with Adam. And then when I got captured… I don’t know.”

His shoulders are shaking but his face is still hidden. It sinks in Keith’s stomach. God, is he… crying?

It’s thick in Shiro’s voice when he speaks again. He’s fucking crying. Keith’s heart starts pounding.

“They would hurt me and I’d try to think about something better but nothing was enough. I felt so guilty about leaving you there by yourself, and I’d worry about how you were doing, and it just…”

_He worried about me?_

“What?” Keith asks.

Shiro shakes and his breath is hitched.

“It made it worse, thinking about you.”

“Shiro…”

Should he touch? He could reach Shiro’s arm from here, could grip him on the shoulder. But he’s not sure if he should. He freezes in indecision.

“I kept feeling like I’d fucked up, and I couldn’t distract myself, so I’d just… sit there with it. And feel it. All of it. And it felt like… it was what I deserved.”

The memory creeps through Keith’s body again. He feels some shadow of it and it’s already too much.

“Shiro, come on. No.”

He peeks at Keith from behind his hand. It’s too dark to really see, but the dim light shines on the tears. His eyes are a little puffy.

“I mean, I know I didn’t deserve it. Intellectually.” Doesn’t sound super convincing. “But it’s just… how it felt. At the time.”

“I get it.”

His posture relaxes, he uncurls himself a little bit. Breathes deeply for a few minutes and doesn’t speak again. Keith hovers to the side, waiting it out. Doesn’t know what to do.

“I just got so lonely sometimes.” He uses his human fingertips to dab at the edges of his eyes. “But it was like,I’d remember how bad I fucked up at home and it just made everything worse.”

“Shiro… come on, man. You didn’t fuck up.”

Fresh tears flood out over his face. “I had been ready to start a _life_ with him, you know? And sometimes it just felt like, even if I could escape I’d have nothing to come home to anyway.”

Keith rolls his eyes. He fights the urge to punch Shiro again and opts instead to grab him loosely around the forearm. “Hey. You had me, you big jerk.”

Shiro laughs softly, like he’s coming out of it. He wipes at his face with the back of his hand. When he blinks up at Keith a moment later, there’s a tiny smile.

“I did, didn’t I?”

He bites his lip to keep from making any snarky jokes. Like, yeah, of course he’d have been there in some capacity. The way Shiro had left him? Not really. Worth anything except offering beers in his fucked up shack in the desert? Probably not. His life sort of fell apart when Shiro had gone missing and aside from the absolute lowest standard of “being there” he wouldn’t have been much help.

Part of him wants to know if Shiro had any idea how spectacularly he’d fucked things up with the Garrison; probably worth a laugh on a better day, but… part of him still wants to believe that Shiro was out there, lost somewhere, still thinking the best of him.

“Do you think…” Shiro trails off and then shakes his head. He wipes his eyes again, and sniffles, and he sits up, scoots back to lean against the wall. “Nevermind. It’s stupid.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I swear to god if you don’t stop saying that…”

“Sorry,” he offers a shy smile in apology, embarrassed or something. Wipes his eyes again, this time on the shoulder of his shirt. “I just was thinking, I wonder if he knew I got back. That night.”

“Well, I did kidnap you pretty fast,” Keith says, and tries to grin to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, hah,” Shiro smirks, trying to play along, but it dies pretty fast. “But, yknow. He had a couple hours to come see me.”

“He probably didn’t have security clearance, anyway.”

“Didn’t stop you.”

Why does that make him feel guilty?

“You were pretty out of it,” Keith shrugs. “Maybe he did come by.”

It just makes Shiro look sadder. God, Keith sucks at this. He visibly winces and looks away, rubs the back of his neck. The silence goes cold between them, awkward. He wonders if he should go. He shifts and swallows, wonders what he should say, but Shiro interrupts him to bring the lighting up a little bit. It isn’t bright by any means, but the piping around the bed comes on, glowing soft green, and they can finally see each other better.

The green is still a mask. He can’t see how blotchy Shiro’s skin went, can’t see the tired veins in his eyes. But his cheeks are wet and his eyelashes are clumped together. He’s puffy and the tear tracks are still shining. And even in the dim and green his eyes look… different. Brighter.

Keith realizes too late that he’s staring.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ve… never seen you cry before.”

Shiro shrugs and rubs at his face. “Sorry, this is gross.”

It feels heavy again in the air, just a flash of it before Shiro shakes it off. He runs his fingers through his hair and cracks his neck, shakes out his hands with an embarrassed chuckle.

“Let me go clean up,” he says, and he’s up and across the room, running water in the bathroom. Keith watches his back, the way he curls over the sink, splashes his face. His shoulders move with deep, practiced breaths. The bathroom light is on and there’s a moment, just a quick moment, when Shiro straightens up and turns around that Keith can see how pink his face is.

But then he steps forward, into the doorway, his shape a silhouette so that Keith can’t read him anymore.

He can’t see Shiro’s eyes but can feel them, feel the way Shiro is watching him. He shifts on the bed, wants to look away. It’s imposing, a bit scary, and he hears explosions ring in his head again, remembers the strength in every part of this man. Not just his ability to destroy things, but his ability to protect them. His ability to survive. Keith’s whole body goes cold.

“Can I kiss you?” Shiro asks.

“Uh—”

“You can say no,” he amends. Talking a little too fast, unsure of himself. “I know you… don’t like it.”

“No, it’s not…” it’s not what? God, he feels like an asshole. Called the fuck out. He hopes it’s too dark for Shiro to see the way he blushes. “I don’t, _don’t like it_. I guess.”

There’s a little _hmph_ , amused and unconvinced.

“I mean, sure. You can.”

“Okay,” Shiro says. “I’m gonna.”

He sits up straighter, braces himself against the edge of the bed as Shiro crosses the room. It squirms in his stomach; all nerves and apprehension, _butterflies?_ , but it burns into arousal, too. Warms him up inside as Shiro comes close, presses into his space.

Seeing this other side of Shiro lately—not just this weird sexy side, but realizing how often Shiro plays a character of himself—still doesn’t really prepare him for easily Shiro flips the switch. A moment ago he was crying and unsure of himself and now he’s wedging himself between Keith’s knees, holding him by the jaw to tilt his head back. When he bends down to kiss him, it’s all power and confidence and control and leaves Keith dizzy.

There’s more to this, he thinks. And he thinks he should feel concerned. Wonders if he’s a bad friend. But it’s hard to focus, hard to make sense of, and he’s squeezing the blanket in his fists as he kisses back. It’s utterly alarming that as easily as Shiro can switch personas, Keith can completely collapse beneath it. Maybe it’s getting easier with practice, submitting like this. But Shiro’s hovering over him, large and powerful, and Keith likes it.

The kiss is thorough, domineering. Melting into it the way he does is embarrassing enough and it takes the last shred of self-control to keep the noises to himself. Shiro leans into him, bending him backwards, so that he has to plant a hand behind himself to keep from falling over. There’s force between them, Shiro pressing down and Keith holding his ground, and it has him flushing beneath his collar.

Kissing still seems a little weird, all things considered. The jury is still out on this one. But it’s warming him up enough that he won’t care soon. It’s becoming normal, part of the game, part of the moment. And he’s almost… almost…

Shiro breaks away, breathing heavy, and his voice is close to Keith’s ear. “Take off your pants,” he says, quiet and rough.

Maybe a testament to _The Moment_ or maybe Shiro’s just fucking ruined him at this point, but he’s scrambling for his belt buckle without even realizing it. Hands clumsy and back straining as he almost loses his balance. Shiro’s hands hold him by the back of his head as they continue to kiss, and Shiro bites Keith’s lip as he manages to wiggle his pants down mid-thigh.

Half-hard and cold in the room, exposed while Shiro is still fully dressed. Becoming normal.

“Come here,” Shiro mumbles, and he stands up straight, pulls Keith to his feet by his biceps. He leans back in, licks into Keith’s mouth as he pushes Keith’s pants further down. It’s awkward, subservient, he feels wobbly and uncoordinated as his clothes tangle around his ankles and he tries to kick them off. Feels like he might fall down, except that Shiro’s grip on him is so tight and sure.

They pull apart, and it’s still dim in the room but they stare at each other for a moment. Keith feels like he’s shrinking.

“Lie down,” Shiro says, and Keith is sinking to the bed again, beneath Shiro’s frame, crawling backwards as Shiro hovers over. Shiro plants his hands on either side of Keith’s shoulders, caging around him, staring. He’s still got his shirt on but he feels so fucking naked like this.

He kisses Keith’s jaw, then the soft space beneath his ear. Keith gasps and arches up into him, feels the blood rushing to his cock. Shiro pets up and down his side, sneaks his fingers beneath the hem of Keith’s shirt to brush up against his ribs.

“What are you doing?” Keith asks.

“Shh,” Shiro soothes. He shifts down, moves himself lower, licks a line against the hair of Keith’s happy trail. “Relax.”

His back arches by reflex and he covers his face with his hands to resist grabbing Shiro by the hair. His mouth is so close to Keith’s cock, a fucking tease as he licks and nips at the skin below Keith’s navel. But he’s not going to take control, not going to force Shiro into it. He’s also not going to ask. He has at least a little bit of dignity left, after all. Kind of.

“You were so good today,” he whispers into Keith’s skin. The words, his breath, are cool against the sheen of saliva. “I was so proud of you.”

If Keith had his way, he’d hide how much that gets to him. But Shiro is too close, enough that he can see the way it makes Keith’s dick jump. He nuzzles against it with his cheek for a moment, fingers trace just lightly enough to be aggravating.

“Shiro…” Keith complains.

“You were so focused,” he praises. “I could feel it in the bond. You were really fighting for it, to stay focused. There were other things on your mind and you managed to put them aside.”

He chews on his shirt sleeve to avoid any humiliating noises.

“Usually…” the warm human hand trails down Keith’s side, curls down to pet his thigh, “…you’re pretty transparent. You must’ve been working really hard to keep your thoughts to yourself today.”

“Hah—” his sarcastic laugh is cut off as Shiro squeezes him behind his knee and pushes his legs open. His body goes limp, pliant, face red. “Just looking out for you, bro. Do you want everyone reliving the weird shit you did to me?”

He bites at the skin inside Keith’s thigh. “Or maybe you don’t want them to know how much you like it.”

The Galra hand slides against his leg then, as well, digging into the soft flesh beneath Keith’s knee. Usually he’s ticklish there, but now it just crackles energy through him. Shiro shifts backwards again, even lower on Keith’s body, and lays a kiss to Keith’s knee before folding him in half. He presses Keith’s knees forward, towards his chest, runs his hands back and forth against the backs of Keith’s thighs.

“F-fuck you,” Keith says. Now he’s just being bratty by default; he’s not really sure why he’s resisting.

Keith tips his head back to stare at the ceiling, feeling weightless and unsure in his body as Shiro’s hands drift downwards, squeeze around his ass cheeks. It’s a quick blip of pain for a moment, enough to kick his heartbeat and wash warmth through his skin, and then there’s the cool air hitting him as Shiro pulls him open. He closes his eyes, feels the warmth tingle over his body and settle on his face, throws his arms over his eyes.

It’s stupid, he’s realizing, as Shiro’s thumbs come in close to his hole, pulls him apart. Stupid that he can feel so embarrassed, that so much of what Shiro does gets him blushing and squirmy, but that… if he really didn’t like it, he wouldn’t go through with it.

He checks in with himself, his mind spinning out somewhere as he sits there in wait, knowing that Shiro is _staring_. He makes sure he doesn’t… actually hate this. And he knows, trusts, that Shiro would back off if he asked. But he doesn’t. He really doesn’t. The way it aches in his cock is proof that he doesn’t.

“I guess no one’s ever done this to you before,” Shiro says. It should be dirtier, like a tease, but he actually seems sincere. Gentle. Maybe that’s worse. Keith tries to answer but his throat is too dry. He squeezes his eyes tighter shut as if it will help, as if it can get him further away. Shiro just hums, and Keith feels the way his weight shifts without seeing him, then the warmth of him, the closeness near his skin as he settles in. “I figured.”

His metal thumb rubs back and forth against his hole, and there’s a sloppy kiss to the inside of his thigh, and his legs strain as he holds himself in place, resists the urge to squeeze in around him.

And then it’s wet, and warm, and weird, and he lets out a pathetic little noise as Shiro does it. It’s hard to make sense of the sensation at first, and his whole body tenses. It starts with Shiro open-mouthed, kissing and sucking around his hole, his thumbs still pulling the muscle apart, but when Keith’s legs begin to shake he slows down. He lays a few broad, slow licks across him, enough that Keith can relax, let his muscles go loose.

_Patience yields focus._

He drops his arms to the side and opens his eyes. There’s nothing to see, really, just the ceiling in the dim green light, but it connects him back to his body, to reality. He counts his breathing, tries to stay with it, and it feels the apprehension recede. More and more, he feels himself melting into Shiro’s bed, accepting it. Allowing himself to enjoy it.

It’s sort of… luxurious?

No one’s ever treated him like this before.

He sighs without realizing it, content, and Shiro pets the back of his thigh in approval. He pulls back for a moment, for air maybe, breathing and staring while his hands massage in little circles. Keith’s tension is falling away; not just from the weird nervous sexual energy in the room, but from the whole day, the week, the whole fucking time in space. He’s never allowed himself to want something like this, to just… _feel good_.

Shiro licks up his shaft then, traces a vein with his tongue, gives him a quick suck on the crown. Kisses his balls on the way back down, licks over his hole again. Less gentle this time, and there’s a brief scrape of teeth before he plunges his tongue _inside_.

“Fuck,” Keith hisses, and his legs twitch, try to close in, but Shiro squeezes the Galra hand around Keith’s thigh to hold him in place.

The human hand is rubbing up and down the skin near his hole, fingers making a V around it as Shiro fucks into him with his tongue.

It’s so much, but not enough. It’s a perfect place where Keith can be, where Shiro can pleasure him without tipping him over the edge, and he digs his nails into his palms until it hurts. He wants to touch himself, to really get himself there, but… is that rude? Taking control like that. He thinks he should let Shiro dictate the pace and tries to be patient.

Shiro keeps making noises and it vibrates through him, into Keith’s body. Everything feels so… messy. He squeezes his fists so hard he wonders if he’s cutting holes into himself; his body feels too tingly, his nails feel too sharp.

He’s whining without realizing it, not sure what he even wants.

Shiro pulls off with a gasp for breath. The V of his fingers rub up and down for a moment, then fingertips tease against his wet hole. He presses his middle finger in to the first knuckle and Keith gasps.

He can feel Shiro watching him but doesn’t want to look. The finger presses deeper in; it’s not slick enough, and burns a little. Just a little, just so that it makes him hornier, makes him crave more.

“Shiro—” he squirms against the bed and isn’t sure what he’s asking for. But Shiro pulls his finger out, licks over him again, and his voice is so rich and patient, velvety and hot when he speaks.

“Jerk yourself off, Keith.”

“Hnngh—” his body is responding before his mind, already reaching for his hardon. He’s dripping already as he pumps at himself, almost frantically.

“That’s it,” Shiro breathes. “There you go.”

_God._

The pleasure is spiking in his body as he pulls at himself, and he can feel the way it makes him clench around Shiro’s tongue. Shiro hums and goes harder, alternating between pushing inside and sucking around his rim.

He’s done this to a couple people, he remembers. But it was never this… thorough. He’s not sure he intended for it to be pleasurable, either, vs something to just tick off the foreplay box. It’s clear that Shiro is servicing him, that he’s doing it for Keith’s pleasure.

That’s a first, in itself. The act alone, too, but this… selflessness. It’s felt like this with Shiro a couple times now and the weight of it is starting to hurt.

It should make him uncomfortable, but his body is screaming for it. Maybe he likes it. Likes being cared for. Fuck, what?

He winds tight and thinks he might come. Should he ask again? It feels like a thing now, like he’s gone too far to go back. Feels right. He forces himself to slow down, squeezes hard around his cockhead for a moment to stave it off as he considers everything.

Shiro seems too sense it, though. He pulls back, kisses Keith’s hole in a way that’s so gentle and reverent. It’s an awkward contrast to the perversion of it.

“You feel good?” Shiro asks.

It’s hot all over and he realizes he’s still wearing his shirt. It’s too sweaty all of a sudden, sticking to his skin, and he pushes it up with his free hand, bunching it up around his armpits to get the cool air on his chest. He tweaks at his nipple and rolls his hips but doesn’t answer. And he _feels_ the way Shiro smiles, feels the way his mouth moves, the curve of it.

“You gonna come?” he asks.

“Fuck,” he twists his hand and goes harder, moans out loud. “Yeah, Shiro, fuck—”

Shiro’s tongue on him smoothes down the shock of it. He expects the orgasm to feel like being hit by a train, a jolt to his system the way it usually is with Shiro. But it’s calm, _nice_ , more like sinking into a bath. His muscles go lax, body a puddle against the bed. His brain takes off spinning, too, into the afterglow. It’s hazy enough that the doubt doesn’t feel unsettling.

 _Why are you doing this?_ he wonders. But it’s such an afterthought. Such a gentle question.

He’s not sure if he’s wondering it about himself or Shiro. Maybe at the both of them. Why the fuck are they doing this?

Shiro lays a parting kiss on his hip bone before crawling back up the bed, rolling onto his back at Keith’s side. They’re both staring up at the ceiling in silence and it isn’t until Keith’s ears stop ringing that he remembers Shiro never even undressed. He spares a quick glance to see the way he’s tenting his sweatpants. But he’s just lying there, breathing slowly, saying nothing.

“Do you want to…” he turns on his side to watch Shiro’s profile and makes a lazy gesture towards his hardon.

Shiro turns his head to look Keith in the eyes. He seems a little better, less puffy. Mostly back to normal. He smiles and shrugs.

The silence is uncomfortable as Keith waits for an actual answer. He finally huffs and rolls his eyes, props himself up on his elbows to look down at Shiro’s face, see him better.

“Shiro…”

He blinks and it should seem sillier that he’s pretending to be coy, except Keith doesn’t think it’s an act.

“Come on, dude,” he grumbles. He shoves Shiro on the arm and sits up straighter, hesitates for a moment before actually reaching for the waistband of Shiro’s pants. “Don’t make it weird.”

Shiro laughs nervously and grabs Keith’s hand to stop him. Keith’s fingers are already curled beneath the fabric, Shiro’s skin warm under his knuckles.

“Seriously,” Keith says, stern enough to almost ruin the afterglow. Shiro’s mouth opens but he doesn’t speak, eyes darting back and forth across Keiths face like he’s so fucking lost. It twinges irritation in Keith’s spine and he lets go, pulls back, sits up. Every instinct inside is telling him to get away, to leave the room, telling him that he’s broken something and needs to flee. He breathes deep to center himself, tries to be rational, clings to the fading calm of his orgasm.

He runs his hands through his hair and breathes through his nose. Tries to focus and find his way back to the inherent comfort between them.

“Give me a clue here,” he finally says. He pulls his shirt back down into place and it sticks to the cum on his chest. “I don’t know what you need right now.”

Shiro exhales and sits up as well, puts his hand on Keith’s chest. “Sorry,” he says. He leans in like he’s going to kiss, but stops himself. Gives a quick half grin and starts pushing Keith back down onto the bed. “Sorry, I needed a minute.’”

There’s a rush of relief as Keith falls back down, as the thud into the mattress pushes the air from his lungs. Shiro climbs over him and kneels between Keith’s legs. For a moment he just stares, then rubs at Keith’s hips, pushes the shirt out of the way so that the cum on his abs gleams in the light. It’s mostly rubbed into his skin at this point, or soaked up by the fabric, but there’s still the sticky sheen of it. Human fingers trace through the mess for a moment, and then he pushes his sweatpants down, just enough for his cock to bob up over the elastic.

He curls the prosthesis around his shaft, gives a few slow pulls. Keith’s knees close in around Shiro’s sides.

“You can fuck me,” he blurts out. Shiro pumps at himself and Keith squirms under him. His voice is tiny when he adds: “Please.”

Shiro laughs and pushes Keith’s shirt further up, squeezes at his nipple and just stares, like he’s absorbing the sight of it. “I don’t think I’d last.”

The Galra arm buzzes as he jerks himself off and Keith opens his legs wider. It’s hard to think about anything else in this position, this close. His brain latches onto it and won’t let go. He reaches down to touch his hole, not prepped but soft and relaxed from Shiro’s attentions. He rubs across himself and presses one of his fingertips inside, just a little.

“You’re unbelievable,” Shiro chuckles. His eyes go dark as he strokes himself faster. “Shameless.”

He winces at the sharp stretch as he pushes further into himself, not slick enough at all but craving it anyway. He bites his lip and whimpers on accident.

“Playing it like that, huh?” Shiro asks. He seems a little out of breath and strokes harder. “Gonna pout if you don’t get your way?”

Without thinking, he locks his ankles together behind Shiro’s back, tries to trap him there. He tries to pull Shiro in towards him but Shiro resists, too strong, hardly budges. Solid. God, that makes it even hotter.

“You want me to come inside you again, don’t you?” His eyes gleam with mischief and there’s a grin quirking at the corner of his mouth.

How fucking humiliating, to be honest.

But his head spins and he’s hot all over. _Please, Shiro. Please please please…_

He lets out a shaky breath and his mind flashes forward, maybe an hour from now, maybe ten minutes, he doesn’t know. But it’s stupid, this ritual—he knows they’ll finish here and he’s going to take the energy of it back to his room. He tries to steady his breathing, tries to stay calm and save the arousal for his own privacy. Whatever happens now, he’ll leave Shiro’s room knowing he’s going to replay it in his head soon. It lets him slow down and focus on all he little details he’ll want to remember.

Shiro inches forward, angles himself so that their hands bump together. His head tilts down, watching what he’s doing, and then his human fingers are intertwining with Keith’s, pulling him back and away, exposing his hole again.

Keith lifts his hips by instinct, makes himself more accessible. And Shiro never actually fucks him like that, not quite. He just notches the head of his cock to Keith’s hole, enough to be a fucking tease, and he’s moaning as he sees himself through the final dozen strokes.

They’re pressed against each other as Shiro comes.

Fucking obscene, the way he feels the heat of it.

Shiro’s eyes close and his voice pitches up, whines a little as it happens, and Keith’s asshole flutters at the feeling of it. It spurts out over Keith’s hole—too tight despite his wishes otherwise, and goes all over his taint, drips down through the cleft of his ass, hot and thick, wet and vivid and fucking gross and going everywhere except where he actually wants it.

He’s not sure why it matters, anyway. He thinks horniness might be rotting his goddamn brain. But he’s wiggling his hand loose from Shiro’s a moment later, clicking right back into place where he wants to be, touching himself there, touching the mess of all of it.

And he’s pushing it inside himself.

It’s not slippery enough to make good lube, but it’s enough to tease himself. Enough to do this one thing, to gather the mess and put it there while it’s still warm.

“Jesus Christ,” Shiro whispers. His brows come together as he watches, chest heaves as he catches his breath. He rubs his forehead with his fingertips. “Fuck, Keith…”

His voice snaps Keith back to reality and he freezes in place. It feels like the color fades from the room, like he can’t feel his face. And he’s knuckle-deep in his asshole and didn’t even notice he was doing it. The room is cold but his skin burns in shame.

“I…” he pulls out of himself and manages sit up, puts distance between them as he makes it to the edge of the bed. “Sorry, fuck. I don’t know why I did that.”

It’s done though. He can feel it in his body, feels it on his fingertips. He’s swaying on his feet, legs rubbery as he tries to grab his pants from off the floor.

He’s deliberately avoiding Shiro’s gaze, hands shaking as he tries to button up.

“Woah,” Shiro says as he begins to back away for the door. Keith still doesn’t look but he sees it in the corner of his eye as Shiro rises off the bed and comes over to him, grabs him gently around the arm. “Hey. What’s wrong? What just happened?”

“I’ll go,” he says. Shiro’s grip around his arm isn’t exactly tight, but it doesn’t give when Keith tries to pull away.

“ _Keith_.”

It resonates in Keith’s spine. Shiro’s _commander_ voice. His shoulders cave and he swallows. Takes a second to himself before he looks up at Shiro’s face. Concerned, but not annoyed. Confused, not disgusted.

“What just happened?” he asks again. Sincere enough, Keith supposes.

“That wasn’t…” he steps back and this time Shiro lets him go. “…too weird?”

The confusion deepens on Shiro’s face, creases his brow. “Did you think I was put off?”

Kinda, yeah.

But he can’t read it on Shiro’s face now. He pinches the bridge of his nose and wishes he were anywhere else.

“Yeah?” Fuck his shaky voice.

Shiro sighs. He touches Keith’s shoulder. “Come here, punk.”

He’s gentle in this way that doesn’t really come across as coddling, more like… loose, giving Keith an out if he doesn’t want to be touched. But he folds against Shiro’s body, pulled into the hug. What the fuck is wrong with him.

“Are we okay?” Shiro asks. He pets the back of Keith’s head. Keith inhales the scent of Shiro’s shirt, deep, long breaths that calm him down. He manages to shrug his shoulders. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.”

“We don’t have to… keep doing this. If you don’t want to.”

He knows that, of course. And he’s said so this whole time that he doesn’t want anything to ruin their friendship. That’s been true the whole time. Still, the suggestion sort of hurts. He hugs Shiro a little tighter. “No. I do.”

“Okay,” Shiro rubs his back. “Come here, let’s sit down?”

He leads Keith back to the bed and guides him to lie back down. Side to side, and Shiro rolls so that he can keep his hand on Keith’s chest. The weight there is comforting. Heavy and nice and a reminder to keep his breathing steady.

“This is going to happen, you know?” Shiro says.

“What?”

Shiro smirks and actually looks kind of bashful. “We’re gonna… learn stuff about each other?”

“Right. Yeah.”

“And we’ve never… you know.” He lifts his hand for long enough to make a vague gesture into the air, but then puts it back. “Talked about stuff like this?”

“Yeah.”

“So…” he shrugs. “I won’t make it weird if you don’t?”

It’s always so strange how Shiro does this to him, how he can be this balm. He’s still feeling embarrassed but it… doesn’t matter anymore. Doesn’t feel so uncomfortable. The pressure of it comes off his shoulders and he sighs in relief.

“Okay. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“Okay.”

Shiro pinches Keith’s nipple and laughs when Keith swats at him. “I’m sure I’ve outed myself as a perv a few times now, too.”

Keith snorts. “You think?”

The laughter fades out as Shiro continues to pet up and down Keith’s breast bone. The anxiety is almost completely dissolved and he’s basking in the afterglow again when Shiro sits up, just enough to lean his chin in his other hand.

“Do you think we should make rules?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, I don’t know. Safewords and stuff? Boundaries? Aftercare?”

“What’s aftercare?”

Shiro makes a quiet hum. “Making sure everyone’s okay after, so we don’t crash.”

“Oh. I mean. Yeah we can do that if it’ll make you feel better.”

“What about you?”

What about me?

He cocks an eyebrow and looks Shiro in the face.

“Are you telling me you’d be okay right now if I’d let you run back to your room?”

Ugh. He doesn’t mean to roll his eyes.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Shiro says. “But maybe don’t rush off when we’re done? That’s easy, right?”

“Yeah.” He thinks back to that day on Laztana, how awkward it had been by the lake but how much better he felt that they’d seen each other through it. “You’re right. We can do that.”

“So stay for a while?”

Keith looks back at the ceiling and folds his hands over his stomach. “Okay.”

And then it’s quiet.

Shiro slows down but keeps petting Keith’s chest. He hates to admit how soothing it is; it makes him feel like a fucking baby, but he can’t deny that it’s helping. It’s bringing him back into his body, not just because of the sex stuff, but alleviating that instinct to flee that he’d almost caved to. Shiro’s hand on him seems to dissipate the illusion of rejection.

He’s almost dozing off when he remembers the visions again, from the aftershocks. It pops into his head, zaps him awake. He turns to look at Shiro again; he can tell he’s not sleeping because his hand is still moving, but his eyes are closed. Lashes are thick against his cheek. He looks serene.

 _What they did to him_ has been abstract, far away this whole time. Hard for Keith to understand when Shiro barely even understands, himself. But he’s beginning to think that his idea of it only scratches the surface. He’s been worried about how Shiro’s been coping, aware that he’s been hiding a lot of it, but the reality is becoming clearer. Darker.

It’s actually remarkable that Shiro isn’t doing way worse.

“Hey…” he says. Shiro doesn’t open his eyes but he makes a little noise in response. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

His laugh is soft, sleepy and quiet. He still doesn’t open his eyes.

“Getting there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have like two weeks left on my contract and then I'll have all the free time in the world to write fanfic all day instead of like... adulting. D: Also hey I slipped Pago Pago in cause I went there a few months ago on the ship LOL.
> 
> [THE TWITTAH](https://twitter.com/kacyinthecosmos/status/1226492194015473664) tbh I made the move to Twitter after tumblr shat itself and I only ever added Sheith people so feel free to jump in


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